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jr.  ■ 

THE 

^ESTHETIC  LETTERS,  ESSAYS, 

AND 

THE  PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS 

OF 

SCHILLER. 


\ 


THE 


AESTHETIC  LETTERS,  ESSAYS, 

■ 

AND 

THE  PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS 
OF  SCHILLER, ; 

TRANSLATED,  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION, 
BY  J.  WEISS. 


Schbn  zu  leben,  ist  wahre  Kunst, 
Kunst  im  Leben  das  schb'ne  Wahre, 
Leben  der  Kunst  das  wahre  Schb'ne, 
Wahres  Leben  die  schdne  Kunst. 

Schiller's  Album. 


BOSTON: 
CHARLES  C.  LITTLE  AND  JAMES  BROWN. 

MDCCCXLV. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1845,  by 
John  Weiss,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
District  of  Massachusetts. 


boston: 
printed  by  freeman  and  bolles, 
washington  street. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 


Introduction   vii 

Upon  the  ^Esthetic  Culture  of  Man,  in  a  Series 

of  Letters   1 

Upon  the  Necessary  Limits  in  the  Use  of  Beau- 
tiful Forms    149 

Upon  the  Moral  Use  of  ^Esthetic  Manners    .    .  185 

Upon  the  Pathetic    199 

Upon  the  Sublime   239 

Thoughts  upon  the  Use  of  the  Common  and  Low 

in  Art   265 

Disconnected  Observations  upon  Various  ^Esthetic 

Subjects   277 

Upon  the  Tragic  Art    307 

The  Philosophical  Letters    339 


INTRODUCTION. 


We  have  lately  fallen  into  the  error,  for  which  we 
are  indebted  to  Germany  herself,  of  forcing  an  un- 
natural contrast  between  Goethe  and  Schiller,  her 
two  greatest  men.  Scholars  spend  their  ingenuity 
in  drawing  parallels  and  exposing  differences,  when 
the  true  process  would  be  to  construct  an  equation 
and  indicate  the  points  of  contact.  The  error  has 
now  become  almost  irremediable :  and  it  seems  to 
be  generally  understood  that  the  two  men  would 
have  never  lived  together  in  Weimar,  if  Providence 
had  not  designed  to  puzzle  posterity  with  the  con- 
trast, and  to  occupy  its  leisure  moments  with  the  de- 
bate as  to  which  is  the  greater.  They  have  unfor- 
tunately passed  into  history,  with  the  legal  versus 
between  their  names,  which  never  kept  asunder  the 


viii 


INTRODUCTION. 


Doe  and  Roe  of  fiction  with  a  more  abiding  perti- 
nacity. 

This  is  a  great  injury  which  we  inflict  upon  our- 
selves. Undoubtedly,  that  delightful  period  of  their 
common  activity  at  Weimar  affords  the  most  natural 
opportunity  for  instituting  a  comparison  between 
them,  which  is  not  without  its  interest  and  advan- 
tage. Their  mental  tendencies  differed  too  distinctly 
to  escape  observation  ;  perhaps  they  challenge  it, 
and  perhaps  the  two  poets  are  noteworthy  as  suc- 
cessful exponents  of  the  two  great  elements  of  Hu- 
manity, the  Real  and  the  Ideal.  For  neither  was 
Goethe  the  whole  man,  nor  was  Schiller  the  less 
complete  one,  he  has  been  represented.  But  it  is  in 
this  very  distinctness  with  which  they  developed  re- 
spectively those  two  great  elements,  that  we  ought 
to  discern,  not  only  the  special  mission  of  each,  but 
the  still  higher  mission  of  both  united.  It  is  striking 
to  notice  how  their  diversity  produces  an  unity ;  it 
would  be  instructive  to  analyze  their  characters,  in 
order  to  perceive  their  capacity  for  creating  a  third 
character  which  is  the  idea  of  Humanity,  the  result 
of  the  two  tendencies  which  make  a  man.  It  seems, 
then,  as  if  that  period  of  their  artistic  union  was  a 
lucky  manoeuvre  of  nature,  to  bring  together  her  two 
elements  most  favorably  developed,  that  she  might 
"  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  Man"  Where 


INTRODUCTION. 


ix 


Goethe  was  deficient,  Schiller  abounded  ;  where  the 
latter  yearned  to  express  that  which  is  absolute,  the 
former  fulfilled  definite  and  ascertained  limits.  Both 
were  earnest  seekers  after  Truth  ;  it  was  for  both 
the  very  condition  of  their  existence,  a  demand  of 
their  consciousness  which  they  never  once  evaded. 
But  we  attain  a  steadfast  form  of  truth,  and  a  har- 
monious development  of  human  faculties,  only  by 
combining  the  results  of  both  :  or  rather,  a  true  man, 
made  after  the  divine  image,  is  the  union  of  both 
their  tendencies.  There  will  be  a  residue,  if  we  at- 
tempt to  unite  the  two  men  as  they  were,  but,  that 
excepted,  the  product  is  the  type  of  that  which  is 
possible  within  us  ;  and  as  such  it  should  be  prized, 
studied,  and  never  rudely  violated.  When  German 
scholars  have  asked,  "  Which  is  greater ;  Goethe  ? 
Schiller  ?  "  others  have  sought  to  deprecate  such  a 
distinction,  and  have  taken  refuge  in  the  simile  of 
the  Dioscuri :  but  even  that  will  not  serve  our  turn, 
for  an  alternate  immortality  does  not  become  those 
who  are  really  immortal  and  available  only  when 
made  into  one. 

The  translator  has  since  found  this  idea  of  the 
genuine  relation  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  to  each  other 
and  to  us,  well  stated  by  Gervinus  in  his  admirable 
history  of  German  Literature.  It  occurs  after  a 
parallel,  or  rather  statement  of  a  coalition,  which 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


exhausts  the  genius  of  both,  and  for  insight  and  com- 
pleteness is  the  best  extant.  "  And  thus  the  lines 
of  the  double  nature  in  both  intersect  so  manifoldly, 
that  they  exhibit  to  us  a  common  whole  only  in  the 
shape  of  a  coalescence,  which  should  delight  us,  and 
give  us  the  foundation  for  a  self-construction,  as  it 
lay  in  the  purpose  of  the  men  themselves.  Who 
would  choose  between  them  :  who  would  blindly  lose 
sight  of  that  fundamental  doctrine  of  both,  which  we 
find  so  repeatedly,  so  expressly,  in  their  writings, 
the  doctrine  of  the  united  totality  of  human  nature  ? 
Who  would  esteem  either  as  the  One,  per  excellen- 
tiam,  when  they  themselves  refer  us  to  a  Third, 
which  is  greater  than  both  ?  There  is  only  one 
point  of  view  from  which  a  preference  for  either  is 
admissible :  in  the  recognition  we  make  of  that  in 
our  own  nature  which  is  narrow  and  incomplete,  and 
which  leads  every  one,  after  the  very  example  of  our 
two  poets,  to  that  one  of  both  who  is  foreign  to  him, 
that  merged  in  the  excellence  of  an  antagonistic  na- 
ture, he  may  repair  his  deficiency,  and  learn,  from 
the  counterfoil  of  his  being,  to  make  the  acknowledg- 
ment which  Goethe  made  with  respect  to  Schiller  — 
he  is  what  we  ought  to  be  !  For  not  unless  we  re- 
cognize wherein  our  own  existence  is  deficient,  and 
also  strive  to  be  that  which  we  are  not,  need  we 


INTRODUCTION.  xi 

hope  in  some  measure  to  become,  what  we  really 
ought  to  be."  1 

With  this  preliminary  we  are  naturally  led  to  the 
Letters  upon  iEsthetic  Culture,  the  first  piece  in 
this  volume :  for  its  aim  is  to  develop  this  very  ideal 
man,  nowhere  so  nearly  expressed  in  life  as  in  the 
union  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  These  Letters  stand 
unequalled  in  the  department  of  ^Esthetics,  and  are 
so  esteemed  even  in  Germany,  which  is  so  fruitful 
upon  that  topic.  Schiller  is  Germany's  best  Ms- 
thetician,  and  these  letters  contain  the  highest  mo- 
ments of  Schiller.  Whether  we  desire  rigorous  W- 
ical  investigation  or  noble  poetic  expression,  whether 
we  wish  to  stimulate  the  intellect  or  inflame  the 
heart,  we  need  seek  no  farther  than  these.  They 
are  trophies  won  from  an  unpopular,  metaphysical 
form,  by  a  lofty,  inspiring  and  absorbing  subject.  It 
is  impossible  to  read  many  of  them  with  an  equable 
color  and  an  unquickened  heart-beat :  the  voice  we 
hear  is  "  as  it  were  of  a  trumpet  "  talking  with  us, 
and  it  says  indeed  none  other  than  the  words  heard 
by  John  —  come  up  hither ! 

The  history  of  these  Letters  is  interesting,  and 
also  necessary  for  the  full  enjoyment  and  under- 
standing of  them.    On  this  point  the  translator 

1  Gesch.  d.  poetischen  National-Literatur,  v.  522. 


xii 


INTRODUCTION. 


avails  himself  of  the  labors  of  Professor  Gervinus, 
the  best  authority,  both  in  matters  of  fact  and  of 
taste. 

Schiller  published  them  in  1795,  during  a  period 
of  the  most  intense  political  excitement,  when  the 
Reign  of  Terror  was  drawing  to  its  close,  and  the 
affiliated  societies  throughout  France  and  Germany 
stormed  the  fiercest.  He  was  far  from  being  indif- 
ferent to  the  signs  of  the  age,  and  was  more  inclined 
to  call  that  a  genuine  movement  of  humanity  which 
Goethe  only  regarded  as  an  accidental  emeute. 
Some  of  the  early  Letters  give  us  his  cool  opinion 
and  the  precise  value  at  which  he  rated  the  existing 
movement :  and  it  will  be  seen  that  the  character  of 
the  times  furnished  him  with  the  starting-point  for 
his  investigations.  It  is  also  noteworthy  that  he  ad- 
dressed the  Letters  to  Christian  Frederic,  Duke  of 
Holstein-Augustenburg,  who  had  rendered  Schiller 
noble  aid  when  he  was  sinking  under  disappointment 
and  disease.  The  incident  is  thus  related  by  Mr. 
Carlyle :  "  Schiller  had  not  long  been  sick,  when 
the  hereditary  Prince,  now  reigning  Duke  of  Hol- 
stein-Augustenburg, jointly  with  the  Count  von 
Schimmelmann,  conferred  on  him  a  pension  of  a 
thousand  crowns  for  three  years.  No  stipulation 
was  added,  but  merely  that  he  should  be  careful  of 
his  health,  and  use  every  attention  to  recover.  This 


INTRODUCTION. 


xiii 


speedy  and  generous  aid,  moreover,  was  presented 
with  a  delicate  politeness,  which,  as  Schiller  said, 
touched  him  more  than  even  the  gift  itself."  He 
could  make  no  return  more  worthy  than  the  work 
which  was  the  first  fruit  of  his  convalescence. 

The  Prince  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Danish  cir- 
cle, which  the  poet  Baggesen  had  inspired  with  an 
enthusiasm  for  Schiller,  and  which,  strangely  enough, 
seems  to  have  embraced  the  French  ideas  of  Free- 
dom with  greater  warmth  than  the  middle  class.  "  If 
this  Prince  is  not  ours  beyond  doubt,"  wrote  Bag- 
gesen to  Reinhold,  "then  all  the  Posas1  can  be- 
take themselves  with  their  schemes  to  Bedlam." 
When  directed  to  such  a  man,  the  political  observa- 
tions in  the  commencement  of  the  ^Esthetic  Letters, 
have  a  suitableness  and  significance.  The  philo- 
sophic poet  feels  that  the  age  requires  a  declara- 
tion of  Freedom  rather  than  of  Beauty ;  and  the 
great  process  pending  in  France,  which  ought  to  be 
decided  by  the  reason,  naturally  would  engage  his 
pen.  But  he  withstands  this  temptation,  and  ex- 
cuses himself  not  on  the  ground  of  inclination,  but 
on  principle .  He  undertakes  to  show,  that  to  solve 
this  political  problem,  one  must  pass  through  the  re- 

1  Posa,  the  philosophic  Marquis  in  Don  Carlos,  the  type  of  Schiller 
himself:  always  doing  homage  to  the  Right,  always  on  the  side  of 
Humanity,  the  sworn  foe  of  falseness  and  injustice. 


xiv 


INTRODUCTION. 


gion  of  the  iEsthetic.  To  prove  this,  he  considers 
in  one  view  the  nature  of  Man  and  of  the  State,  and 
finds  that  if  man  would  exchange  the  state  of  nature  or 
need  for  the  moral  state,  he  must  possess  that  totality 
of  the  ancients,  in  whom  there  was  a  distinct  har- 
mony of  thought,  perception  and  action,  both  in  Art 
and  Polity ;  while  our  bodies  politic  display  rude- 
ness in  the  lower,  and  relaxation  in  the  higher 
classes.  We  cannot  suppose  that  the  State,  which 
has  induced  this  evil,  can  of  itself  obviate  it :  where 
the  upper  classes  do  not  use  their  freedom,  they 
need  not  be  deprived  of  it,  and  it  need  not  be  given 
to  the  great  mass  who  blindly  abuse  it.  All  politi- 
cal improvement  can  result  only  from  ennoblement 
of  the  character  ;  but  how  can  that  take  place  under 
a  barbarous  polity  ?  For  this  design  we  must  seek 
an  instrument  which  is  independent  of  the  State, 
and  lay  open  sources  which  preserve  themselves 
pure  through  every  political  depravation.  This  in- 
strument is  the  Fine  Arts.  The  Artist  may  secede 
from  his  age  and  elevate  himself  above  it. 

This  carries  us  to  the  Tenth  Letter ;  and  the 
whole  range  of  German  Literature  cannot  afford  a 
composition  equal  to  the  Ninth,  in  dignity  of  state- 
ment, nobility  of  idea,  aptness  of  language.  Schil- 
ler emerges  from  the  relations  of  his  century,  and 
stands  upon  the  peak  of  time  :  he  gives  law  to  his 


INTRODUCTION. 


XV 


age,  he  utters  that  which  must  be  an  inspiration  not 
to  be  withstood,  for  all  the  true-hearted,  for  those 
who  are  now  breaking  ground  for  our  Future. 
There  is  hope  for  our  young  country  only  if  we  suc- 
ceed in  acclimating  the  principles  of  the  poet. 

Schiller  then  proceeds  to  consult  experience  for 
the  effects  of  Beauty  upon  the  character.  History 
declares  that  nations  have  declined  in  proportion  to 
their  aesthetic  culture,  that  enervation  and  loss  of 
freedom  have  followed  close  upon  refinement.  But 
perhaps,  he  says,  experience  is  not  the  arbitress  in 
the  decision  of  this  question  ;  at  least  it  remains  to 
be  proved  that  the  Beauty  against  which  all  histori- 
cal examples  seem  to  testify,  is  the  same  Beauty 
concerning  which  he  intends  to  speak.  He  then 
proceeds  to  evolve  the  conception  of  Beauty  from 
the  Reason,  and  to  establish  something  necessary 
and  absolute  which  shall  be  independent  of  the  old 
declarations  of  history,  and  whose  realization  in  life 
shall  create  history  anew.  This  is  certainly  a  more 
satisfactory  process  than  if  Schiller  had  postponed 
his  interrogation  of  the  Reason,  and  had  sought  to 
present  history  as  a  sure,  but  hitherto  imperfect  and 
fragmentary,  development  of  the  pure  idea  of  Beauty. 
More  satisfactory,  because  he  is  thereby  able  to  dem- 
onstrate that  which  no  history  has  yet  displayed, 
and  to  prophecy  surely  and  hopefully  a  better  fu- 


vi 


INTRODUCTION. 


ture.  To  show  how  the  State  must  finally  repre- 
sent his  idea  of  Beauty,  is  better  than  merely  to 
show  how  or  why  the  State  has  hitherto  misrepre- 
sented it,  or  how  a  philosophy  of  history  might  ex- 
plain and  combine  isolated  and  incongruous  pheno- 
mena. The  new  Beauty  which  Schiller  discovers 
is  equivalent  to  a  philosophy  of  history,  and  he  re- 
turns to  the  order  of  nature  in  the  Twenty-third  and 
Twenty-fourth  Letters.  The  three  different  moments, 
passivity  under  nature's  force,  freedom  in  the  aes- 
thetic state,  and  government  of  that  force  in  the 
moral  state,  are  the  three  epochs  for  the  develop- 
ment of  humanity  in  the  mass  and  in  the  individual, 
just  as  they  are  the  condition  of  every  cognition  we 
receive  through  the  senses :  we  pass  to  the  Real 
through  the  Ideal,  to  the  deeds  of  manhood  through 
the  wishes  of  youth. 

It  is,  however,  the  opinion  of  Gervinus  that 
Schiller  would  have  simplified  the  matter  by  confining 
himself  wholly  to  the  historical  method,  and  by 
showing  how  experience  contradicted  in  no  wise 
his  principles.  "  That  Schiller  did  not  return  to 
his  problem,  in  the  course  of  the  Letters,  and  that 
he  did  not  carry  out  the  idea  he  started  of  the  rela- 
tion between  aesthetical  and  political  culture,  but 
left  it  as  a  fragment,  permits  us  to  regard  it  as  one 
of  those  interruptions  caused  by  circumstances,  and 


INTRODUCTION. 


xvii 


which  demands  a  future  man,  with  a  like  affinity  for 
the  past  and  present  time,  to  knit  together  in  a  fa- 
vorable moment  the  dissevered  threads.  Before  we 
ourselves  are  farther  advanced  in  our  political  cul- 
ture, we  shall  not  dare  to  decide,  why  the  most  art- 
istic nation  of  the  earth  has  had  the  purest  civic 
development ;  how  far  an  aesthetic  people  is  quali- 
fied by  its  harmonious  culture  for  the  creation  of  a 
harmoniously  compacted  polity  ;  under  what  condi- 
tions a  people  which  has  attained  this  culture  will 
remain  stationary  complacently,  and  feel  more  con- 
tented to  decline  in  the  province  of  Art  than  to  as- 
pire in  the  State  ;  and  how  long  it  would  bear  the 
discrepancy  between  its  actual  political  position  and 
that  more  worthy  one,  which  would  correspond  with 
its  degree  of  culture  and  fulness  of  power."  1 

Following  this  there  is  an  admirable  analysis  of 
the  remainder  of  the  iEsthetic  Letters,  to  the  temp- 
tation for  translating  which  I  should  yield,  were 
not  the  temptation  greater  to  leave  the  field  fresh 
and  unexplored  for  every  lover  of  Schiller  and  his 
subject.  Those  parts  which  are  purely  metaphysi- 
cal will  not  be  repulsive,  and  the  iron  consistency  of 
the  whole  precludes  their  being  slighted.  Schiller 
emerges  from  all  of  them  with  grace  and  ease,  and 
requites  us  for  our  labor  by  the  captivating  and  in- 

1  Gcscb.  d.  poetischen  National -Literalur.  v.  426. 
B 


xviii 


INTRODUCTION. 


spiring  statements  of  his  conclusions.  The  dizzy 
and  perilous  trains  of  thought  all  lead  to  high,  sunny 
table-lands,  and  into  green  resting  places :  they  are 
like  the  bridge,  fine  as  a  hair  and  keen  as  a  razor, 
which  the  Faithful  must  pass  to  reach  Paradise.1 

A  history  of  the  JEsthetic  Letters  properly  in- 
cludes a  statement  of  Schiller's  relation  to  Kant, 
since  we  find  in  the  First  Letter  an  admission  that 
they  are  based  upon  Kantian  principles.  But  a 
thorough  discussion  of  this  relation  is  much  beyond 
the  limits  of  an  introduction,  which  will  only  admit 
such  points  as  are  necessary  for  the  proper  apprecia- 
tion of  Schiller's  ^Esthetic  theory.  Schiller  was 
never  strictly  a  disciple  of  Kant,  but  only  coincided 
with  him  in  one  or  two  mental  tendencies  which 
they  held  in  common.  The  pure  subjective  method 
of  Kant  was  modified  by  him,  so  as  to  include  the 
objective  also.  In  one  respect  he  was  nearer  Fichte 
than  Kant,  because  the  former  distinguished  Object 

1  Schiller's  prose  style  is  well  adapted  to  metaphysical  investiga- 
tions. That  which  Jean  Paul  calls  "the  perfection  of  pomp-prose," 
with  its  parallels  and  antitheses,  avails  the  intellect  quite  as  much  as 
the  imagination.  Schiller's  parallels  bear  along  two  ideas  related  or 
opposed,  in  company  with  each  other,  balancing  them  by  the  way, 
till  their  absolute  or  relative  weight  is  ascertained.  In  fact  all  the 
Letters  may  be  said  to  state  the  two  tendencies  of  humanity  in  a 
parallel,  which  skilfully  develops,  and  finally  unites  in,  a  third  pro- 
duct, the  ^Esthetic  Man. 


INTRODUCTION. 


xix 


from  Subject,  while  the  latter  only  made  it  depend- 
ent upon  Subject.  Fichte's  metaphysical  formula 
which  has  provoked  so  much  burlesque  1  and  has  ex- 
cited so  many  good-natured  suspicions  of  insanity, 
1=  I,  is  certainly  the  first  term  of  any  genuine  meta- 
physical theory,  because  thereby  the  Not-I,  that  is, 
World,  in  the  widest  sense  of  that  word,  is  left  as  a 
quantity  independent  of  our  own  Subject.  There- 
fore the  operation  of  Subject  and  Object  is  reciprocal. 
It  is  not  true,  with  Kant,  that  the  outward  is  only 
a  projection  of  the  modes  of  our  Understanding, 

1  See,  for  instance,  Coleridge's  remarks  upon  Fichte's  Egoism,  and 
a  Note  upon  page  95  of  the  Biog.  Literaria:  "  the  categorical  Imper- 
ative, or  the  annunciation  of  the  new  Teutonic  God,  F,ywtvy.aiJTav, 
&c."  But  Fichte  did  not  state  the  reciprocity  of  Subject  and 
Object :  he  assumed  the  former  as  the  absolute  substance,  there- 
by only  declaring  the  first  term  of  a  correct  metaphysics.  His  posi- 
tion is  assailable,  because  it  is  unqualified.  Schelling  unfortunately 
made  it  still  less  practicable.  But  in  Schiller  we  recognize  the  two 
necessary  distinctions,  first,  between  the  finite  Subject  and  the  Di- 
vinity ;  second,  between  Subject  and  Object  :  and  nothing  can  be 
plainer  than  his  statements  of  the  reciprocity  of  the  latter.  The  two 
former  distinctions  save  us  from  Pantheism,  the  ground -idea  of 
which,  as  a  system,  is,  the  entire  uselessness  of  any  system  at  all, 
just  as  death  is  the  unquestionable  remedy  of  all  disorders  :  and  the 
idea  of  reciprocity  saves  us  from  the  materialism  of  Kant,  for  that  is 
materialism,  in  which  the  cognitions  a  priori  (or  the  Understanding 
in  action)  both  create,  and  yet  are  only  possible  through,  the  Object, 
—  so  the  latter  in  reality  limits  all  faith  and  knowledge.  Schiller  af- 
fected neither  the  system  nor  the  terminology  of  Kant.  (For  the 
finest  Analysis  of  Kant's  system,  see  that  by  Mr.  Brownson,  in  his 
Boston  Quarterly,  1844.) 


XX 


INTRODUCTION. 


which  position  admits  nothing  absolute,  nothing  pos- 
itive and  independent,  save  the  categories  into  which 
the  Understanding  is  divided  :  neither  is  it  true,  with 
Hume  and  others,  that  the  source  of  all  our  know- 
ledge is  empirical,  and  only  the  efflorescence  of 
the  rive  senses.  There  is  a  point  between  the  two, 
and  in  a  plane  higher  than  both,  an  union  of  fact 
and  idea,  induction  from,  and  anticipation  of,  IVa- 
ture,  a  distinct  appreciation  of  the  respective  capaci- 
ties of  Subject  and  Object,  which  is  the  only  true 
starting-point  for  metaphysics  and  the  only  safe 
ground  for  science.  Schiller  attempted  to  throw 
himself  into  that  position  :  the  result  was  that  he 
made  Kant's  theory  of  --Esthetics  available,  or  more 
strictly  speaking,  he  rejected  the  process  of  pure 
speculation,  and  sought  to  give  contents  to  Form  ; 
his  plastic  spirit  wrought  in  Matter  and  the  world  of 
sense,  and  was  not  content  with  Kant's  ••'  pure  ab- 
stract method  of  deduction  from  conceptions."  He 
was  a  Kantian  only  so  far  as  Kant  was  practical, 
and  only  where  his  ideas  u  extricated  from  their 
technical  form,  appear  as  the  prescriptive  claims  of 
the  common  reason,'''  and  are  the  common  sense  of 
humanity. 

But  it  was  Kant's  stern  morality  which  first  at- 
tracted Schiller,  and  which,  after  all.  is  the  only 
genuine  bond  of  union  between  the  two  philoso- 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxi 


phers.  Kant  was  disgusted  with  the  sentimentality 
of  pietism  and  poetry,  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  the 
loose  philosophy  of  Wieland  and  the  Anacreontic 
school,  on  the  other:  and  he  promulgated  a  system 
which  reproduced  in  a  scientific  form,  the  high  ethics 
of  Christianity,  and  he  applied  them,  moreover,  with 
distinguished  success,  to  every  sphere  of  human  ac- 
tivity and  knowledge.  The  sensualism  of  the  age 
was  rebuked,  and  its  waves  arrested.  This  was  the 
chief  benefit  of  Kant's  labors  :  his  metaphysical  sys- 
tem is  only  a  material  idealism,  proving  nothing, 
giving  no  positive  result,  excepting  as  it  shows  the 
incapacity  of  the  understanding,  "which  is  of  the 
earth,  earthy,"  but  his  application  of  Christian  mo- 
rality to  every  relation  of  life,  to  every  sphere  of 
science,  and  most  especially,  to  that  of  ^Esthetics, 
was  positively  useful,  productive  of  immediate  re- 
sults, regenerating  the  tone  of  German  thought. 
This  was  Kant's  real  mission,  on  this  rests  his  fame, 
and  it  is  here  that  he  commands  respect  and  invites 
research. 

This  mental  tendency  of  Kant  was  an  irresistible 
attraction  for  the  severe  and  pure  mind  of  Schiller, 
and  the  sage  of  Konigsberg  invited  him  precisely 
where  Goethe  was  repelled.  Here  recourse  is  again 
had  to  Gervinus,  for  his  statement  of  the  way  in 
which  Kant  and  his  dominant  tendency  affected 


xxii 


INTRODUCTION. 


Schiller's  ^Esthetics.  "  Kant  separated  Art  from  all 
the  demands  of  exigency  and  utility,  he  defined  a 
free  Beauty  as  something  distinct  from  dependent 
Beauty,  and  made  the  essential  of  Art  to  consist  in 
the  Form.  He  regarded  the  fine  arts,  if  they  were 
not  brought  into  union  with  moral  ideas,  as  mere 
means  of  mental  dissipation :  he  called  Beauty  the 
symbol  of  moral  goodness,  and  the  fine  arts  the  em- 
bodiment of  moral  ideas.  To  him,  the  development 
and  culture  of  the  moral  feeling  appeared  to  be  the 
true  preliminary  to  establishment  of  the  taste,  which 
ought  to  create  a  passage  from  the  allurements  of 
sense  to  an  habitual  moral  interest.  These  were 
the  principles  which  mainly  attracted  Schiller.  The 
obscurity  and  discord  in  Kant  on  the  subject  of  the 
relation  of  sense  and  morality,  determined  him  to 
separate  them  distinctly  ;  the  attractive  opinions  up- 
on the  Sublime,  one  of  the  finest  places  in  Kant's 
writings,  where  the  dry  limbs  of  speculation  are 
clothed  with  the  pleasant  green  of  fact  and  example, 
arrested  his  attention  :  the  hints  which  Kant  let  fall 
concerning  the  happy  union  of  a  lofty  culture  and  its 
constraint  of  law  with  the  force  of  free  nature,  in  the 
Grecian  humanity,  and  a  chance  word  that  Art  com- 
pared with  Labor  may  be  considered  as  a  Play,  —  all 
excited  a  storm  of  ideas  in  the  mind  of  Schiller,  to 
whom  this  province  was  familiar  ;  and  he  now  strove 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxiii 


on  all  sides,  from  sheer  stress  of  thought,  to  give  him- 
self full  utterance.  It  thus  came  to  pass,  that  he 
finally  dared  to  accomplish  that  of  which  Kant  de- 
spaired. The  latter  had  proposed  to  develop  and  to 
establish  the  subjective  principle  of  Taste  as  an  a 
priori  principle  of  the  Judgment ;  he  had  denied  an 
objective  principle.  But  Schiller  developed  this  in 
his  iEsthetic  Letters,  and  thus  ipso  facto  refuted 
him." 

Although  Schiller  coincided  with  Kant  particu- 
larly on  the  side  of  morality,  yet  he  did  not  sympa- 
thize entirely  with  Kant's  presentation  of  the  idea  of 
Duty  and  Right.  It  was  too  hard  and  Draconic. 
He  was  disposed  to  abate  somewhat  of  Kant's  ascet- 
icism, because  "  he  regarded  virtue  more  as  inclina- 
tion for  duty ;  he  respected  the  demands  of  nature, 
he  would  have  man  obey  his  reason  with  joy.  And 
thus,  conscious  of  his  moral  dignity,  he  placed  him- 
self on  the  side  of  the  Latitudinarians  against  the 
moral  Rigorists."  But  how  far  this  led  Schiller 
into  latitudinarianism,  in  the  common  sense  of  that 
word,  will  be  pretty  evident  on  the  perusal  of  the 
essay  upon  the  "  Limits  of  Taste,"  in  which  the  loose 
principles  of  modern  novelists,  and  the  dilettantism 
which  indulges  artistic  admiration  of  men  whose 
principles  corrupt  Art,  excepting  so  far  as  it  is  only 
imitative,  —  are  pointedly  rebuked.    There  is  no 


xxiv 


INTRODUCTION. 


doubt  that  Schiller  regarded  not  only  a  love  for 
Truth,  but  also  a  love  for  virtue,  as  essential  to  form 
the  true  Artist :  and  when  it  is  said  that  he  diverged 
from  the  asceticism  of  Kant,  it  is  to  be  understood 
only  with  reference  to  his  more  Christian  statement 
of  Duty.  In  one  place  he  has  defined  Christianity 
as  "  the  moral  Imperative  transfigured  by  Love." 
Kant's  system  does  not  admit  the  latter  principle  : 
his  morality  is  "  hung  with  clattering  categorical  im- 
peratives," and  though  an  admirable  antagonistic 
statement  to  the  Epicureanism  of  his  day,  wants  that 
creative,  renewing  principle,  which  substitutes  for 
obedience  to  the  Law,  a  love  of  God. 

That  chance  word  of  Kant's,  "  that  Art  compared 
with  Labor  may  be  considered  as  a  Play,"  is  the 
origin  of  Schiller's  Play-impulse,  a  term  nowhere 
used  by  Kant.  But  his  "  Critique  of  the  Judg- 
ment" furnishes  us  with  remarks  like  the  following  : 
"  Every  form  of  objects  of  sense  (both  of  the  external 
and,  mediately,  of  the  internal)  is  either  Shape  or 
Play :  in  the  latter  case,  either  play  of  shapes  (in 
Space,  posture  and  dance)  or  play  of  perceptions 
(in  Time)."  "  To  make  a  distinction  between  Art 
and  Labor,  the  one  may  be  called  free,  the  other 
paid.  We  regard  the  first  as  subserving  a  design 
only  as  play,  that  is,  as  an  occupation  in  itself  agree- 
able :  but  the  second,  as  a  task  imposed,  that  is,  as 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXV 


an  occupation  in  itself  disagreeable,  and  only  attract- 
ive through  its  result  (that  is,  the  pay)."  "Ora- 
tory is  the  art  which  carries  on  a  business  of  the  in- 
tellect as  a  free  play  of  the  imagination :  Poetry, 
that  which  conducts  a  free  play  of  the  imagination  as 
a  business  of  the  intellect ;"  and  several  other  pas- 
sages, certainly  not  quite  distinct  and  practical,  par- 
ticularly in  the  Analysis  of  the  Sublime,  where  Kant 
makes  a  free  use  of  this  idea  of  Play  as  a  mental 
disposition.  Schiller  has  erected  it  into  a  theory, 
and  the  Play-impulse  is  the  chief  nerve  of  his  aes- 
thetic system.  The  Letters  explain  satisfactorily 
what  he  means  by  it,  and  how  even  the  common  use 
of  language  justifies  the  adoption  of  the  term.  Sup- 
pose that  at  any  moment  we  should  have  the  two- 
fold experience  of  perception  and  of  reflection,  and 
should  exist  as  Matter  and  Spirit,  we  should  have  at 
that  moment  a  complete  intuition  of  our  Humanity. 
It  would  evolve  the  Play-impulse :  the  word  play  in- 
dicating all  that  is  neither  internally  nor  externally 
contingent  nor  constrained.  The  Play-impulse  is 
not  entirely  the  desire  for  amusement,  as  displayed 
in  the  sports  of  different  nations,  nor  the  faculty  of 
Humor,  in  which,  by  the  way,  Schiller  is  curiously 
deficient.  But  all  these  are  but  single  phases  of  the 
Play-impulse,  which  is  equivalent  to  man  aestheti- 
cally developed  :  it  indicates  a  nature  whose  two 


XXVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


tendencies  are  poised  and  have  a  mutual  and  harmo- 
nious operation.  The  aesthetic  Art-impulse  will  never 
unfold  itself,  if  the  Play-impulse  has  not  first  be- 
come active. 

So  far  as  the  sports  of  a  people  are  indicative  of 
its  aesthetic  culture  and  the  development  of  its  Play- 
impulse,  the  sons  of  the  Puritans  may  be  judged  to 
be  still  in  a  state  of  nature.  With  us  it  is  most  em- 
phatically "  all  work  and  no  play."  Our  life  is 
hard,  austere,  thoroughly  empirical ;  the  oscillation  to 
the  subjective  extreme  has  just  commenced.  We 
are  not  self-poised,  our  centre  of  gravity  is  not  re- 
moved far  enough  from  the  surface  :  we  are  not  yet 
Persons,  but  we  only  represent  conditions.  The 
common  national  life  does  not  depend  upon  any- 
thing, it  is  like  a  superficies  from  which  the  interior 
has  fallen  quite  away,  leaving  it  thin  and  hazardous. 
The  outside  look  imputed  to  us  expresses  exactly 
our  want  of  development,  fulness,  aesthetic  balance  : 
in  short,  tried  by  Schiller's  aesthetic  rules,  we  are  not 
so  enormously  removed  from  the  savages  whom  we 
have  just  dispossessed,  and  whose  arrow-heads  the 
New  England  plough  still  turns  up  in  numbers.  So 
long  as  we  seek  definite  results,  "  fiery -red  with 
haste,"  and  those  results  not  always  the  most  enno- 
bling, we  shall  never  apprehend  that  golden  mean 
between  Person  and  Condition,  Freedom  and  Na- 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxvii 


ture,  where  the  true  humanity  will  finally  rest  and 
expand. 

"  The  age  culls  simples, 
With  a  broad  clown's  back  turned,  broadly,  to  the  glory  of  the 
stars  — 

We  are  gods  by  our  own  reck'ning —  and  may  well  shut  up  the  tem- 
ples, 

And  wield  on,  amid  the  incense-steam,  the  thunder  of  our  cars. 

"  For  we  throw  out  acclamations  of  self-thanking,  self- admiring, 
With,  at  every  mile  run  faster,  — [  O  the  wondrous,  wondrous  age,' 
Little  thinking  if  we  work  our  Souls  as  nobly  as  our  iron,  — 
Or  if  angels  will  commend  us,  at  the  goal  of  pilgrimage." 

Many  of  the  characteristics  of  Schiller's  age,  men- 
tioned in  the  earlier  Letters,  will  be  found  to  indi- 
cate also  our  own.  See  particularly  the  Second, 
Fifth  and  Sixth. 

The  other  Essays  contained  in  this  volume  were 
written  before  the  Letters  upon  iEsthetic  Culture, 
excepting  the  two  immediately  succeeding:  and 
though  they  display  great  insight,  sound  criticism,  a 
lively  moral  sense,  and  are  full  of  admirable  views 
and  suggestions,  yet  they  have  no  particular  system, 
and  do  not  betray  the  master-hand  which  gave  us 
the  Letters.  They  are  the  results  of  his  meditations 
during  the  study  of  Lessing,  Winckelmann,  Aristotle 
and  Kant.    Some  of  them  were  designed  to  make 


xxviii 


INTRODUCTION. 


an  application  of  Kantian  principles,  that  u  Upon 
the  Sublime,"  for  example.  They  might  be  freely 
illustrated  with  hints,  and  parallel  passages  from 
Kant's  aesthetic  works,  but  with  no  particular  utility, 
since  he  is  everywhere  more  practical  than  Kant, 
and  is  the  best  interpreter  and  applier  of  his  specu- 
lations. Two  of  Schiller's  best  Essays  remain  un- 
translated, "  Upon  Grace  and  Dignity  "  and  "  Upon 
Naive  and  Sentimental  Poetry."  Each  is  nearly  as 
long  as  the  Letters  upon  JEsthetic  Culture,  and  may 
possibly  appear  in  a  second  volume  of  Translations. 
In  the  one  "upon  Naive  and  Sentimental  Poetry," 
he  constructs  the  conception  of  the  perfect  Poet,  as 
he  constructed  the  perfect  humanity  in  the  iEsthetic 
Letters.  It  is  less  abstract  than  the  latter,  and  more 
historical,  that  is,  it  describes  the  national  poets  and 
criticises  different  kinds  of  poetry,  and  abounds  in 
application  and  example.  Schiller  regards  Naive 
and  Sentimental  poetry  as  the  only  possible  modes  in 
which  the  poetic  genius  can  make  expression.1 

Though  a  The  Philosophical  Letters,"  given  in 
this  volume,  have  no  connection  with  ^Esthetics,  yet 
they  are  interesting  as  revealing  one  of  the  early 

1  Of  the  rest  of  Schiller's  philosophical  writings,  the  following  have 
been  translated :  "  The  Mission  of  Moses  "  —  in  the  Monthly  Reposi- 
tory, 1825  :  part  of  his  introductory  Lecture  to  a  historical  course  at 
Jena,  in  Mrs.  Austin's  "German  Prose  Writers:"  and  "The  Stage, 
considered  as  a  Moral  Institution,"  in  the  Knickerbocker  :  February, 
1845. 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxix 


moods  of  Schiller's  mind,  and  also  attractive  from 
the  subtil ty  of  thought  and  expression.  That  he 
did  not  rest  in  the  pantheistic  "  Theosophy  of  Jul- 
ius," is  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  Preface  of  the 
Letters,  even  if  his  future  writings  did  not  make  it 
manifest.  Schiller  has  nowhere  distinctly  stated  the 
articles  of  his  religious  faith,  and  probably,  judged 
by  most  orthodox  standards,  he  did  not  possess  any. 
But  if  we  believe  that  a  pure  and  earnest  heart,  a 
quick  and  honest  conscience,  a  distinct  perception  of 
Christ  as  the  ideal  of  virtue  and  the  embodiment  of 
a  divine  life,  are  the  things  needful  to  create  a  Chris- 
tian, then  was  Schiller  one.  But  if,  in  addition,  we 
are  disposed  to  insist  upon  some  intellectual  state- 
ment of  the  method  and  circumstances  of  that  reve- 
lation of  Goodness,  or  if,  venturing  still  farther,  we 
claim  certain  statements  of  doctrine  as  essential  to 
the  reproduction  of  this  goodness,  —  then  indeed  is 
Schiller  no  longer  a  Christian  ;  for  he  supplies  us 
nowhere  with  a  Christology,  though  the  two  princi- 
ples of  Duty  and  Love  are  most  distinctly  stated  and 
applied.  His  inner  life  was  doubtless  better  than 
any  definition  of  a  Christology,  even  were  it  made 
by  a  Schiller.  And  if  the  possession  of  this  inner 
life  is  the  destiny  of  humanity,  if  it  is  by  such  fruit 
that  the  human  soul  is  to  be  known,  then  Schiller 
must  have  had  somewhere  an  adequate  Christology, 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION. 


and  a  definite  supernatural  one  too  —  supposing  the 
latter  essential  to  the  formation  of  a  divine  life.  But 
as  the  Founder  of  our  Faith  has  himself  declared 
such  to  be  non-essential,  we  are  forced  to  believe 
that  Schiller's  adequate  Christology  was  simply  the 
possession  of  that  spirit,  which  is  anterior  to  all  in- 
tellectual statements,  which  nerves  the  will,  keeps 
sacred  the  conscience,  and  which  is  to  be  known  as 
Life :  or,  in  apostolic  language,  it  is  Christ  himself 
formed  in  our  hearts.  To  ask  how  that  life  arises, 
or  to  demand  this  or  that  intellectual  garnish,  as  if 
the  life  were  else  invalid,  is  immediately  to  leap  the 
pale  of  Christian  toleration,  and  recall  those  times 
when  unconverted  disciples  would  fain  have  kindled 
a  fire  out  of  heaven  for  non-conforming  Samaritans, 
and  those  later  times  when  the  same  fire  was  kin- 
dled with  torch  and  fagot,  —  since  heaven  has  al- 
ways sympathized  with  heretics,  and  will  not  burn. 

The  undeniable  characters  of  a  good  life  cannot 
be  denied  to  Schiller  :  he  is  known  by  his  works  — 
in  every  sense.  Pure,  high-minded,  truth-loving,  en- 
amored of  virtue  for  her  own  sweet  sake,  he  presents 
to  us  the  lofty  spectacle  of  a  man  pursuing  the 
ideal  of  his  race  through  every  opposition,  disap- 
pointment, loss.  He  would  realize  Christianity, 
which  is  the  moral  law  transfigured  by  love.  In  his 
own  person  he  represents  the  struggles  of  humanity  : 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxxi 


his  life  was  an  unfinished  prophecy.  It  is  inspiring, 
because  his  deeds  were  vast,  and  rang  like  the 
sounds  of  a  trumpet :  it  is  pathetic  and  purifying, 
because  it  contained  the  divine  element  of  sorrow, 
and  we  are  given  to  see  a  spirit,  not  only  battling 
with  the  world  and  with  necessities,  but  well-nigh 
over-mastered  by  its  own  yearning.  He  was  the  di- 
rect ambassador  of  the  Ideal ;  he  had  an  indefeasible 
right  to  dictate  to  humanity  the  terms  of  its  culture, 
because  he  evolved  it  from  the  regenerative  idea  of 
duty  as  Love.  And  what  he  preached,  he  prac- 
tised. 

Therefore  we  do  not  require  that  the  Philosophical 
Letters  should  be  anything  more  than  a  fragment, 
which  they  are  :  neither  are  we  troubled  about  his 
antique,  Graeco-hebraic  "  Artists,"  or  "  Gods  of 
Greece,"  composed  during  the  same  period.  His 
maturer  writings  present  to  us  his  genuine  creed  and 
philosophy,  and  show  us  his  heart  still  honest  and 
pure,  still  unstormed,  though  a  Titanic  intellect  had 
often  encamped  before  it.  His  special  mission  was 
to  legislate  for  man's  ^Esthetic  Culture,  and  to  plant 
art  upon  the  principle  of  morality.  Therefore  we 
are  to  look  for  an  intellectual  development  congru- 
ous with  that  design,  and  to  expect  neither  the  ser- 
monic  style  nor  substance. 

On  Page  198,  of  this  volume,  Schiller  seems  to 


XXxii  INTRODUCTION. 

•  ■ 

confound  Religion  with  the  prospects  of  immortality, 
and  to  make  the  former  a  substitute  where  true  virtue 
does  not  yet  exist.  But  this  is  only  a  temporary 
assumption  on  his  part,  of  the  popular  definition  of 
religion.  He  merely  wishes  to  state  the  relation  of 
the  common  conception  of  the  latter  to  that  which  is 
absolutely  religious  —  that  is,  a  love  of  virtue.  Till 
men  possess  true  virtue,  they  must  have  legality,  or 
an  obedience  to  the  law ;  which  conception  includes 
reward  and  penalty.  Absolute  religion  is  a  love  of 
virtue,  because  that  alone  fulfils  our  destiny  ;  it  is  a 
necessity  of  our  spiritual  organization,  and  therefore 
entirely  independent  of  any  reference  to  reward  or 
penalty.  But  Schiller's  concession  to  the  weakness 
of  human  nature  is  only  temporary  ;  he  declares  the 
maximum  of  man's  capacity,  that  he  may  not  con- 
tinue forever  content  with  a  minimum.  Neither  are 
we  to  regard  virtue  as  its  own  reward,  which  is  a 
dilution  of  the  Kantian  principle  :  because  then  vice 
would  be  avoided  only  from  a  desire  for  moral  hap- 
piness, which  deportment  interpolates  the  element 
of  reward.  But  virtue  must  be  won  because  it  is 
the  sole  condition  and  pabulum  of  our  spiritual  life. 
We  demand  no  pay  for  breathing,  and  we  do  not 
carry  it  on  because  it  turns  out  to  be  a  luxury ;  we 
only  wish  to  sustain  life. 


INTRODUCTION. 


xxxiii 


In  conclusion,  the  translator  would  fain  make  some 
reparation  for  having  called  this  an  introduction.  It 
is  very  inadequate,  in  view  of  whom  and  what  it 
was  his  duty  to  introduce,  and  he  joyfully  concludes 
the  bungling  formula  which  was  honestly  meant  to 
facilitate  the  formation  of  the  reader's  new  friend- 
ship. And  with  respect  to  the  translation,  he  can 
only  hope  never  to  have  violated  the  meaning  of  the 
author.  The  pleasant  task  is  concluded  which  has 
made  the  beloved  Schiller  so  long  a  household  word 
and  a  daily  presence ;  and  a  premonition  of  solitude 
and  loss  makes  the  multiplying  last  words  a  tempta- 
tion, which  is  withstood  only  for  the  sake  of  the 
reader. 

Note.  With  the  passage  of  Schiller  above  designated,  compare  the 
Twenty-fourth  Letter  of  the  ^Esthetic  Culture  ;  and  particularly  the 
noble  passage  on  page  118.  —  The  prescribed  limits  of  this  introduc- 
tion force  the  translator  to  resign  one  or  two  anticipated  topics,  con- 
nected with  Schiller's  theory. 

Watertown,  Feb.  20,  1845. 


c 


UPON  THE 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE  OF  MAN. 

IN  A 

SERIES  OF  LETTERS. 


■ 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


FIRST  LETTER. 

By  your  permission  I  lay  before  you,  in  a  series  of 
letters,  the  results  of  my  researches  upon  beauty  and 
art.  I  am  feelingly  sensible  of  the  importance,  but  still 
not  less  of  the  charm  and  dignity  of  this  undertaking. 
I  shall  speak  of  a  subject,  which  is  immediately  related 
to  the  better  portion  of  our  happiness,  and  stands  in  close 
connection  with  the  moral  nobility  of  human  nature. 
I  shall  plead  the  cause  of  beauty  before  a  heart,  by 
which  her  whole  power  is  felt  and  exercised,  and  which 
will  take  upon  itself  the  severest  part  of  my  labor,  in 
an  investigation  where  one  is  compelled  to  appeal  as 
often  to  feelings  as  to  principles. 

That  which  I  would  have  asked  as  a  favor,  you  gen- 
erously propose  as  a  duty  ;  thus  leaving  to  me  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  service,  where  I  only  consult  my  inclina- 
tion. The  freedom  of  motion,  which  you  prescribe  to 
1 


2 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


me,  I  find  no  constraint,  but  rather  a  necessity.  Little 
practised  in  the  use  of  formal  rules,  I  shall  hardly  be  in 
danger  of  sinning  against  good  taste,  by  any  abuse  of 
them.  My  ideas,  drawn  rather  from  an  uniform  con- 
verse with  myself,  than  from  a  rich  experience,  or  from 
reading,  will  not  deny  their  origin  ;  they  will  sooner  be 
guilty  of  any  error  than  of  sectarism,  and  will  rather 
fall  from  their  own  weakness,  than  maintain  themselves 
by  authority  and  foreign  strength. 

I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  the  following  affirm- 
ations will  rest,  for  the  most  part,  upon  Kantian  prin- 
ciples ;  but  if,  in  the  course  of  these  investigations,  you 
should  ever  be  reminded  of  some  particular  school  of 
philosophy,  ascribe  it  to  my  incapacity,  not  to  those 
principles.  No,  the  freedom  of  your  mind  shall  be  in- 
violable to  me ;  your  own  sensibility  will  furnish  me 
the  data  upon  which  I  build  ;  your  own  free  thought 
will  dictate  the  laws,  in  conformity  with  which  I  shall 
proceed. 

Only  philosophers  disagree  concerning  those  ideas 
which  predominate  in  the  practical  part  of  the  Kantian 
system,  but  I  am  confident  of  showing  that  mankind 
have  never  done  so.  When  extricated  from  their  tech- 
nical form,  they  become  as  the  prescriptive  claims  of 
the  common  reason,  and  appear  as  data  of  the  moral  in- 
stinct, which  nature  places  before  man  as  a  model,  till 
clear  insight  gives  him  his  maturity.  But  this  very 
technical  form,  which  makes  the  truth  plain  to  the  un- 
derstanding, conceals  it  from  the  feeling  :  for  alas,  the 
understanding  can  only  appropriate  the  object  of  the 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


3 


inner  sense,  by  first  destroying  it.  The  philosopher, 
like  the  chemist,  finds  union  only  by  means  of  dissolu- 
tion, and  the  work  of  spontaneous  nature  only  through 
the  torture  of  art.  In  order  to  detain  the  fleeting  phe- 
nomenon, he  must  bind  it  in  the  fetters  of  rule,  present 
its  fair  body  in  dismembered  conceptions,  and  preserve 
its  living  spirit  in  a  meagre  skeleton  of  words.  Is  it 
wonderful  that  the  native  feeling  does  not  recognize 
itself  in  such  a  copy,  and  that  truth  appears  as  paradox 
in  the  report  of  the  analyst? 

Therefore  may  I  crave  your  indulgence,  if  the  fol- 
lowing investigations  should  remove  their  object  out  of 
the  sphere  of  sense,  while  seeking  to  approximate  it  to 
the  understanding.  What  there  obtains  with  respect 
to  moral  phenomena,  must  obtain,  in  a  still  higher  de- 
gree, with  respect  to  the  manifestation  of  beauty.  The 
whole  enchantment  lies  in  its  mystery,  and  if  the  neces- 
sary union  of  its  elements  is  dissolved,  so  also  is  its  es- 
sence. 


SECOND  LETTER. 


But  ought  I  not  to  make  a  better  use  of  the  liberty 
which  you  have  granted  me,  than  to  engage  your  atten- 
tion upon  the  theatre  of  the  fine  arts  ?  Is  it  not  at 
least  unseasonable  to  look  around  after  a  statute  book 
for  the  aesthetic  world,  when  the  affairs  of  the  moral 
world  excite  an  interest  so  much  keener,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  times  call  so  pressingly  upon  the 
spirit  of  philosophical  inquiry,  to  engage  in  the  most 
perfect  of  all  works  of  art  —  the  erection  of  a  true  polit- 
ical freedom? 

I  would  fain  not  live  in,  or  labor  for  another  century. 
One  is  a  good  citizen  of  the  age,  only  so  far  as  he  is 
a  good  citizen  of  the  state  ;  and  when  it  is  found  un- 
seemly, nay,  inadmissible,  to  withdraw  from  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  circle  in  which  we  live,  why 
should  we  esteem  it  a  less  duty  to  allow  the  need  and 
the  taste  of  the  century  a  voice  in  our  choice  of  activ- 
ity? 

But  this  voice  seems  by  no  means  to  decide  in  favor 
of  art ;  not,  at  least,  of  that  special  phase,  to  which 
alone  my  investigations  will  be  directed.  The  course 
of  events  has  given  the  spirit  of  the  age  a  direction, 
which  threatens  to  remove  it  farther  and  farther  from 
ideal  art.    This  must  abandon  reality,  and  rise  with 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


5 


decent  boldness  above  necessity  ;  for  art  is  a  daughter  of 
freedom,  and  must  receive  her  commission  from  the 
needs  of  the  spirit,  not  from  the  exigencies  of  matter. 

But  now  necessity  rules,  and  depresses  fallen  hu- 
manity beneath  its  tyrannical  yoke.  Utility  is  the  great 
idol  of  the  age,  to  which  all  powers  stoop  and  all  talents 
do  homage.  The  spiritual  merit  of  art  has  no  weight 
in  its  clumsy  balance,  and,  robbed  of  every  incitement, 
flees  from  the  century's  noisy  mart.  The  spirit  of 
philosophical  inquiry  itself  seizes  one  province  of  the 
imagination  after  another,  and  the  limits  of  art  dimin- 
ish the  more  those  of  science  are  enlarged. 

The  eyes  of  the  philosopher  and  the  man  of  the  world 
are  turned,  full  of  expectation,  towards  the  political 
arena,  where,  as  is  believed,  the  great  destiny  of  hu- 
manity is  now  developed.  Does  it  not  betray  a  censur- 
able indifference  to  the  welfare  of  society,  not  to  share 
this  universal  discourse  ?  So  nearly  does  this  great  ac- 
tion, on  account  of  its  tenor  and  results,  approach  every 
one  who  calls  himself  a  man,  so  must  it  especially  in- 
terest the  self-thinker,  on  account  of  his  profession.  A 
question,  which  otherwise  only  the  blind  right  of  the 
strongest  will  answer,  is  apparently  now  pending  before 
the  tribunal  of  pure  reason,  and  whoever  is  only  capable 
of  placing  himself  in  the  centre  of  the  whole,  and  of  sub- 
stituting his  individuality  for  the  race,  may  consider 
himself  as  a  judge  in  this  court  of  reason ;  while  at 
the  same  time,  as  a  man  and  citizen  of  the  world,  he 
is  a  party,  and  perceives  himself  more  or  less  intimately 
implicated  in  the  result.    Thus  it  is  not  only  his  own 


G 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


case,  which  awaits  decision  in  this  great  action ;  it 
must  also  be  judged  according  to  laws,  which,  as  a  ra- 
tional being,  he  himself  is  able  and  entitled  to  dictate. 

How  attractive  would  it  be  for  me,  to  push  my  re- 
searches into  such  a  subject,  with  such  an  ingenious 
thinker  as  well  as  liberal  cosmopolite,  and  to  surrender 
the  decision  to  a  heart,  consecrated  with  a  fine  enthu- 
siasm to  the  welfare  of  humanity  !  What  an  agreeable 
surprise,  to  meet  your  unbiased  spirit  in  the  same  re- 
sult on  the  field  of  ideas,  in  spite  of  the  great  diversity 
of  station,  and  the  wide  difference  which  circumstances 
in  the  actual  world  make  necessary  !  If  I  resist  this 
attractive  experiment,  and  suffer  Beauty  to  precede 
Freedom,  I  trust  not  only  to  accommodate  it  to  my  in- 
clination, but  to  vindicate  it  by  principles.  I  hope  to 
convince  you,  that  this  matter  is  far  less  foreign  to  the 
wants  than  to  the  taste  of  the  age,  nay  more,  that  in 
order  to  solve  this  political  problem  in  experience,  one 
must  pass  through  the  aesthetic,  since  it  is  Beauty  that 
leads  to  Freedom.  But  this  argument  cannot  be  pur- 
sued until  I  remind  you  of  the  principles,  by  which 
generally  the  reason  guides  itself  in  political  legislation. 


THIRD  LETTER. 


Nature  commences  with  man  no  better  than  with 
her  other  works  ;  she  acts  for  him  where  he  cannot  yet 
act  as  a  free  intelligence.  But  this  fact  creates  him  a 
man,  that  he  does  not  rest  satisfied  with  the  results  of 
mere  nature,  but  possesses  the  capacity  to  retrace  with 
his  reason  the  steps  taken  with  nature  in  anticipation, 
to  transform  the  work  of  need  into  the  work  of  his  own 
free  choice,  and  to  elevate  physical  into  moral  necessity. 

Awaking  from  a  sensuous  slumber,  he  recognizes 
himself  as  a  man,  looks  around  and  finds  himself —  in 
the  state.  An  unavoidable  exigency  placed  him  in  this 
position,  before  he  could  choose  it  in  his  freedom  ;  need 
shaped  his  course  according  to  the  bare  laws  of  nature, 
before  he  could  conform  it  to  the  laws  of  reason.  But 
as  a  moral  person  he  could  and  cannot  be  content  — 
alas  for  him,  if  he  could  —  with  this  forced  condition, 
which  only  resulted  from  his  natural  destination,  and 
is  only  to  be  estimated  as  such !  Therefore,  in  that 
right  by  which  he  is  a  man,  he  forsakes  the  dominion 
of  a  blind  necessity,  since  in  so  many  other  points  he 
is  estranged  from  it  by  his  freedom  ;  since,  only  to  give 
one  example,  he  effaces  by  morality,  and  ennobles  by 
beauty,  the  low  character  which  the  need  of  sexual 
love  impressed.    Thus  in  his  maturity  he  artistically 


s 


.(ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


recalls  his  childhood,  constructs  a  state  of  nature  in 
idea  —  which  indeed  no  experience  has  given  him,  but 
is  the  necessary  result  of  his  reasoning  process  —  bor- 
rows in  this  ideal  state  an  aim,  which  he  knew  not  in 
his  actual  state  of  nature,  and  a  choice,  for  which  he 
was  once  incompetent ;  and  now  he  conducts  no  differ- 
ently than  if  he  began  from  the  first,  with  the  state  of 
mere  contract  exchanged  for  the  state  of  independence, 
arising  from  a  clear  insight  and  a  free  resolve.  How- 
ever artfully  and  firmly  a  blind  caprice  may  have  se- 
cured its  work,  however  arrogantly  it  may  maintain  it, 
or  cast  around  it  whatsoever  appearance  of  respect,  he 
may  consider  it  as  completely  undone  by  this  opera- 
tion ;  for  the  work  of  blind  power  possesses  no  author- 
ity before  which  Freedom  need  to  bend,  and  everything 
must  conform  to  the  highest  aim  which  the  personal 
reason  proposes.  In  this  way  originates  the  attempt  of 
a  people  in  its  majority,  to  transform  its  state  of  nature 
into  a  moral  state  :  and  in  this  way  the  attempt  is  vin- 
dicated by  success. 

This  state  of  nature  —  which  is  that  of  every  political 
body  whose  organization  springs  originally  from  force 
and  not  from  law  —  is  indeed  opposed  to  the  moral  man, 
with  whom  mere  conformity  should  serve  as  a  law,  but 
it  is  quite  adequate  to  the  physical  man,  who  only 
gives  himself  laws  in  order  to  adapt  himself  to  forces. 
But  the  physical  man  is  actual,  and  the  moral  man 
only  problematic.  If  then  the  reason  abolishes  the  state 
of  nature,  as  she  necessarily  must,  to  substitute  her 
own  state  in  place  of  it,  she  risks  the  physical  and  ac- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


9 


tlial  man  for  the  problematic  moral  man,  the  existence 
of  society  for  a  merely  possible  (though  morally  neces- 
sary) ideal  of  society.  She  takes  from  man  something 
that  he  really  possesses,  and  without  which  he  has  no- 
thing, and,  in  place  of  it,  directs  him  to  something  that 
he  could  and  should  possess  :  and  should  she  count  too 
much  upon  him,  instead  of  gaining  a  humanity,  which 
he  still  needs,  and  may  continue  to  need  without  dan- 
ger to  his  existence,  he  would  lose  even  the  means  for 
animality,  which  is  yet  the  condition  for  a  future  hu- 
manity. Before  he  has  had  time  to  unite  himself  firmly 
by  force  of  will,  to  the  law,  she  has  drawn  the  ladder 
of  nature  from  under  his  feet. 

It  is  then  highly  doubtful,  whether  the  physical  so- 
ciety in  time  could  cease  for  a  single  instant,  while  the 
moral  society  fashioned  itself  in  idea,  without  hazard- 
ing man's  existence  for  the  sake  of  his  dignity.  If  the 
artist  has  a  clock  to  mend,  he  suffers  the  wheels  to  run 
down  ;  but  the  living  clock-work  of  the  state  must  be 
repaired  while  it  is  in  motion  —  the  wheel  must  be 
changed  during  its  revolution.  Then  we  must  go  in 
quest  of  such  a  support  for  the  continuation  of  society, 
as  makes  it  independent  of  the  state  of  nature,  which 
we  would  abolish. 

This  support  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  natural  char- 
acter of  man,  selfish  and  violent,  rather  bent  upon  the 
destruction  than  the  conservation  of  society  :  as  little 
is  it  to  be  found  in  his  moral  character,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  supposition,  is  yet  to  be  fashioned,  and  upon 
which,  while  it  is  free  and  never  apparent,  the  legisla- 


10  ^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 

tor  can  neither  have  influence,  nor  depend  with  safety. 
Then  the  task  that  devolves  is  this,  —  to  separate  ca- 
price from  the  physical,  and  freedom  from  the  moral 
character ;  to  harmonize  the  former  with  laws,  and 
make  the  latter  dependent  upon  impressions;  to  re- 
move the  former  somewhat  farther  from  the  outward, 
and  bring  the  latter  nearer  to  it,  in  order  to  create  a 
third  character,  which,  related  to  both  of  them,  may 
construct  a  passage  from  the  dominion  of  mere  force  to 
the  dominion  of  law,  and  without  retarding  the  devel- 
opment of  the  moral  character,  may  serve  as  a  sensible 
pledge  of  it,  still  formless  and  unseen. 


FOURTH  LETTER. 


So  much  is  certain  :  only  the  preponderance  of  such 
a  character  among  a  people,  can  complete  without  peril 
the  transformation  of  a  state  according  to  moral  princi- 
ples, and  only  such  a  character  can  warrant  its  perpe- 
tuity. In  the  creation  of  a  moral  state,  the  moral  law 
is  reckoned  upon  as  an  active  power,  and  the  free  will 
is  drawn  into  the  realm  of  causes,  where  all  things  de- 
pend upon  each  other  with  severe  necessity  and  stabil- 
ity. But  we  know  that  the  determinations  of  the  hu- 
man will  always  remain  contingent,  and  that  physical 
and  moral  necessity  coincide  only  in  the  absolute  be- 
ing. If  then  a  calculation  could  be  made  upon  the 
moral  conduct  of  a  man,  as  upon  natural  results,  it 
must  be  nature,  and  his  instinct  must  already  lead  him 
to  such  a  demeanor  as  a  moral  character  alone  can 
have  as  its  result.  But  the  will  of  man  stands  perfect- 
ly free  between  duty  and  inclination,  and  no  physical 
constraint  can  or  may  encroach  upon  this  royal  right 
of  his  person.  Will  he  then  retain  this  power  of  choice, 
and  be  not  the  less  a  positive  quantity  in  the  causal 
connexion  of  powers,  he  can  only  effect  it  when  the 
operations  of  both  those  instincts  in  the  sphere  of  phe- 
nomena take  place  in  perfect  equilibrium,  and  the  sub- 
ject-matter of  his  volition  remains  the  same  amid  every 


12 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


variety  in  form,  so  that  his  motives  are  in  sufficient 
unison  with  his  reason,  to  be  available  for  an  universal 
legislation. 

Each  individual  man,  we  can  say,  bears,  in  disposi- 
tion and  determination,  a  pure  ideal  man  within  him- 
self; and  the  great  task  of  his  existence  is  to  harmon- 
ize in  all  his  variety  with  its  unalterable  unity.1  This 
pure  man,  which  may  be  recognized  more  or  less  dis- 
tinctly in  each  subject,  is  represented  by  the  state  — 
the  objective  and,  so  to  speak,  canonical  form,  in  which 
the  manifoldness  of  the  subject  strives  to  unite.  But 
now  two  methods  are  supposable,  by  which  the  pheno- 
menal man  can  coincide  with  the  ideal  man,  conse- 
quently just  as  many,  by  which  the  state  can  affirm  it- 
self in  individuals  :  either  by  the  suppression  of  the 
empirical  by  the  rational  man,  the  nullification  of  in- 
dividuals by  the  state,  or  by  the  individual  becoming  the 
*  state,  by  the  phenomenal  man  ennobling  himself  to  the 
ideal  man. 

It  is  true,  this  distinction  subsides  when  we  make  a 
partial  moral  estimate;  for  the  reason  is  content  if  her 
law  only  has  an  unconditional  value.  But,  in  a  com- 
plete anthropological  estimate,  where  subject-matter  as 
well  as  form  is  reckoned,  and  the  active  sentiment  also 
has  a  voice,  that  distinction  is  all  the  more  notable.  It 
is  true,  the  reason  demands  unity,  but  nature  demands 
variety,  and  both  claim  to  legislate  for  man.    The  law 

1  I  will  refer  here  to  a  work  lately  published  —  Lecture  upon  the 
Destiny  of  the  Scholar,  by  my  friend  Fichte,  in  which  may  be  found 
a  very  luminous  and  hitherto,  in  this  way,  unattempted  treatment  of 
this  principle. 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


13 


of  the  former  is  impressed  upon  him  by  an  incorrupti- 
ble consciousness,  the  law  of  the  latter  by  an  indelible 
perception.  Hence  it  will  continually  testify,  by  an 
education  yet  deficient,  if  the  moral  character  can 
maintain  itself  only  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  natural :  and 
a  government,  which  is  only  in  a  condition  to  effect 
unity  by  the  abolition  of  variety,  will  still  remain  very 
incomplete.  The  state  should  not  only  respect  in  the 
individual  the  objective  and  generic,  but  also  the  sub- 
jective and  specific  :  and  must  not  dispeople  the  realm 
of  phenomena,  while  extending  the  unseen  realm  of 
morals. 

If  the  mechanical  artist  puts  his  hand  to  the  shape- 
less mass,  to  give  it  the  form  of  his  design,  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  force  it  to  his  purpose ;  for  the  raw  material 
which  he  elaborates,  demands  no  respect  for  itself,  and 
the  whole  does  not  concern  him  for  the  sake  of  the 
parts,  but  the  parts  for  the  sake  of  the  whole.  If  the 
liberal  artist  puts  his  hand  to  the  same  mass,  he  hesi- 
tates as  little  to  do  it  violence,  only  he  is  careful  lest  it 
should  be  apparent.  He  does  not  in  the  least,  any 
more  than  the  mechanical  artist,  respect  the  raw  ma- 
terial which  he  elaborates ;  but  he  will  seek  to  deceive 
the  eye,  which  is  not  satisfied  unless  the  freedom  of  the 
material  be  preserved,  by  an  apparent  conformity  there- 
to. Quite  otherwise  is  it  with  the  pedagogical  and  po- 
litical artist,  who  uses  man  at  once  as  material  and  as 
object.  Here  the  design  reverts  to  the  material,  and 
the  parts  need  to  be  adapted  to  the  whole,  only  because 
the  whole  serves  the  parts.    But  the  state-artist  must 


14 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


approach  his  material,  with  a  regard  quite  different  from 
that  which  the  liberal  artist  feigns  for  his  :  he  must  pre- 
serve its  distinctive  and  personal  nature,  not  only  sub- 
jectively, and  for  a  deceptive  effect  upon  the  senses, 
but  objectively,  and  for  its  real  essence  and  effect. 

But  for  the  reason  that  the  state  ought  to  be  an  or- 
ganization, framed  through  and  for  itself,  it  can  only 
be  realized  so  far  as  the  parts  have  tuned  themselves 
to  the  idea  of  the  whole.  Since  the  state  serves  to 
represent  the  pure  and  objective  humanity  in  the  breast 
of  its  citizens,  it  must  preserve  the  same  relation  to- 
wards its  citizens,  in  which  they  stand  to  themselves, 
and  only  in  proportion  as  their  subjective  humanity  has 
been  made  objective,  can  it  command  respect.  If  the 
inner  man  is  at  one  with  himself,  he  will  preserve  his 
distinctive  character  in  the  widest  universality  of  its 
expression,  and  the  state  will  only  be  the  interpreter  of 
his  fine  instinct,  the  more  intelligible  formula  of  his  in- 
ternal legislation.  But  if  on  the  contrary,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  people,  the  subjective  man  sets  himself  in 
such  distinct  opposition  to  the  objective,  that  only  the 
suppression  of  the  former  can  secure  to  the  latter  a  tri- 
umph, then  the  state  must  engage  the  stern  gravity  of 
law  against  the  citizen,  and  trample  down  without  re- 
spect or  favor  an  individuality  so  hostile,  in  order  not 
to  be  its  victim. 

Man  can  be  self-opposed  in  a  twofold  manner :  either 
as  savage,  if  his  feelings  rule  his  principles,  or  as  bar- 
barian, if  his  principles  destroy  his  feelings.  The 
savage  despises  art,  and  recognizes  nature  as  his  abso- 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


15 


lute  monarch  :  the  barbarian  mocks  and  dishonors  na- 
ture, but,  with  a  meanness  unknown  to  the  savage,  he 
not  unfrequently  continues  to  be  the  slave  of  his  slave. 
The  civilized  man  makes  a  friend  of  nature,  and  re- 
spects her  freedom,  while  he  curbs  only  her  caprice. 

Then  if  reason  introduces  its  moral  unity  into  phy- 
sical society,  it  need  not  injure  the  manifoldness  of  na- 
ture. If  nature  strives  to  assert  her  manifoldness  in 
the  moral  structure  of  society,  she  need  bring  no  de- 
triment thereby  to  moral  unity;  the  golden  product, 
the  final  expression  rests  equidistant  from  uniformity 
and  confusion.  Then  totality  of  character  must  be 
found  in  a  people,  who  would  be  capable  and  worthy  of 
exchanging  the  state  of  necessity  for  the  state  of  free- 
dom. 


FIFTH  LETTER. 

Is  this  the  character,  which  the  present  age  and  oc- 
currences manifest  to  us  1  My  attention  is  immediately 
arrested  by  the  most  prominent  object  in  this  ample 
picture. 

It  is  true,  that  respect  for  opinion  has  fallen,  caprice 
is  unmasked,  and  though  still  armed  with  power,  pur- 
loins no  longer  any  dignity  ;  man  is  aroused  from  his 
long  indolence  and  self-deception,  and  demands  with 
an  overwhelming  majority  the  restitution  of  his  inalien- 
able rights.  But  not  merely  demands  them ;  he  bestirs 
himself  on  every  side,  to  take  by  force  what  in  his 
opinion  has  been  denied  to  him  unjustly.  The  fabric 
of  a  natural  state  is  tottering,  its  brittle  foundations  are 
weakened,  and  a  physical  possibility  appears  granted 
to  place  law  upon  the  throne,  at  length  to  honor  man 
as  himself  his  final  aim,  and  to  make  true  freedom  the 
basis  of  political  union.  Empty  hopes  !  Moral  possi- 
bility is  wanting,  and  the  favorable  moment  finds  an 
unsusceptible  race. 

Man  portrays  himself  in  his  deeds,  and  what  a  form 
is  that  which  is  presented  in  the  drama  of  the  present 
age !  Barrenness  here,  license  there ;  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  human  decline,  and  both  united  in  a  single 
period. 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


17 


Crude  and  lawless  instincts  exhibit  themselves  in  the 
lower  and  more  numerous  classes,  freeing  themselves 
with  the  dissolved  restraint  of  civil  order,  and  hastening 
with  ungovernable  madness  to  a  state  of  brutal  satisfac- 
tion. However  it  may  be,  that  objective  humanity  has 
had  reason  to  complain  of  the  state ;  the  subjective 
must  respect  its  institutions.  Need  one  blame  it  for 
disregarding  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  so  long  as  it 
was  necessary  to  maintain  its  own  existence —  for  has- 
tening to  separate  by  mere  force  of  repulsion,  and 
unite  by  cohesion,  where  as  yet  no  power  of  culture 
existed  ?  Its  vindication  is  contained  in  its  dissolu- 
tion. Society  uncontrolled,  instead  of  speeding  up- 
wards to  organic  life,  falls  back  to  its  original  elements. 

On  the  other  side  the  enlightened  classes  present  the 
opposite  aspect  of  laxness  and  a  depravation  of  charac- 
ter, which  is  so  much  the  more  revolting,  since  culture 
itself  is  the  source.  I  forget,  what  ancient  or  modern 
philosopher  remarks,  that  the  noblest  is  the  vilest  in  its 
downfall  ;  it  is  true  also  in  a  moral  sense.  A  son  of 
nature  becomes,  in  his  decline,  quite  frantic ;  a  disci- 
ple of  art  contemptible.  The  intellectual  illumination, 
which  forms  the  boast,  not  wholly  groundless,  of  the 
polished  classes,  evinces  on  the  whole  an  influence  on 
the  disposition  so  little  ennobling,  that  it  rather  lends 
maxims  to  strengthen  the  depravity.  We  disown  na- 
ture in  her  proper  sphere,  in  order  to  feel  her  tyranny  in 
the  moral,  and  while  we  struggle  against  her  impres- 
sions, we  borrow  thence  our  principles.  The  affected 
decency  of  our  manners  denies  to  her  the  venial  Jirst 


18  ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 

voice,  that  we  may  cede  to  her  the  decisive  last  one, 
in  our  material  ethics.  Selfishness  has  founded  its 
system  in  the  lap  of  the  most  refined  sociality,  and  we 
experience  all  the  contagions  and  calamities  of  society, 
without  extracting  therefrom  truly  kind  affections.  We 
submit  our  own  free  judgment  to  its  despotic  opinion, 
our  feelings  to  its  fantastic  customs,  our  wills  to  its  se- 
ductions ;  and  maintain  only  our  caprice  against  its 
solemn  rights.  Proud  self-sufficiency  contracts,  in  the 
worldling,  the  heart  that  so  often  beats  with  sympathy 
in  a  child  of  nature ;  just  as  each  one  in  a  burning  city 
seeks  to  save  only  his  own  pitiful  property  from  the 
desolation.  Only  in  a  complete  abjuration  of  sensibil- 
ity, can  one  find  protection  against  its  abuses,  and  the 
jest,  which  often  bestows  salutary  chastisement  upon 
the  fanatic,  lacerates  as  unrelentlessly  the  noblest  feel- 
ings. Civilization,  far  from  placing  us  in  freedom, 
only  unfolds  a  new  want  with  every  power  that  it  edu- 
cates within  us  ;  the  bonds  of  the  physical  pinch  more 
and  more  painfully,  so  that  the  fear  of  losing  smothers 
even  the  earnest  desire  for  improvement,  and  the  max- 
im of  passive  obedience  passes  for  the  highest  wisdom 
of  life.  In  fine,  we  behold  the  spirit  of  the  age  waver- 
ing between  perverseness  and  rudeness,  between  extrav- 
agance and  mere  nature,  between  superstition  and 
moral  disbelief,  and  it  is  only  the  equiponderance  of  ill, 
that  ever  defines  its  limits. 


SIXTH  LETTER. 


Has  my  delineation  of  the  age  been  overwrought? 
I  do  not  expect  this  objection,  but  rather  another  — 
that  I  have  proved  too  much.  This  picture,  you  say 
to  me,  certainly  resembles  present  humanity,  but  it  re- 
sembles, too,  all  people,  who  are  in  the  process  of  cul- 
tivation, since  all  without  difference  must  fall  from 
nature  by  an  over-refined  intellectuality,  before  they  can 
return  to  her  again  through  the  reason. 

But  with  some  attention  to  the  character  of  the  age 
one  must  be  surprised  at  the  contrast,  that  will  be 
evident  between  the  present  form  of  humanity  and  that 
of  former  times,  particularly  the  Grecian.  The  credit 
of  cultivation  and  refinement,  which  we  justly  make 
the  most  of  against  every  mere  state  of  nature,  cannot 
avail  us  with  the  Grecian  nature,  which  united  all  the 
attractions  of  art  with  all  the  dignity  of  wisdom,  with- 
out, as  ourselves,  becoming  its  victim.  The  Greeks 
shame  us  not  only  by  a  simplicity,  to  which  our  age  is 
a  stranger ;  they  are  at  the  same  time  our  rivals,  nay, 
often  our  model  in  that  very  preeminence,  with  which 
we  are  wont  to  console  ourselves  for  the  native  per- 
verseness  of  our  manners.  At  once  objective  and  sub- 
jective, at  once  philosophic  and  creative,  tender  and 
energetic,  we  behold  the  youth  of  fancy  united  in  a 
noble  humanity  to  the  manliness  of  reason. 


20 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


In  the  beautiful  awaking  of  the  spiritual  powers,  at 
that  period,  sense  and  spirit  had  no  strongly  marked 
peculiarity;  no  dispute  had  yet  constrained  them  to 
withdraw  in  hostile  manner  from  each  other,  and  de- 
fine their  boundaries.  Poesy  had  not  yet  contended 
with  wit,  and  speculation  had  not  disgraced  itself  by 
craft.  In  case  of  need  both  could  exchange  their 
functions,  since  each  revered  truth,  after  its  own 
fashion.  However  high  reason  soared,  it  ever  lovingly 
lifted  the  outward  after  it,  and  however  finely  and 
sharply  it  discriminated,  still  it  never  lacerated.  It  is 
true,  it  analyzed  human  nature,  and  threw  its  amplified 
elements  into  the  majestic  circle  of  divinities,  but  not 
thereby  tearing  it  in  pieces,  only  mingling  it  diversely, 
since  a  complete  humanity  was  wanting  in  no  single 
god.  How  entirely  different  with  us  moderns  !  With 
us  too  the  type  of  the  race  is  thrown,  in  parts  that  are 
amplified,  into  individuals,  but  in  fragments,  not  in 
different  combinations,  so  that  one  must  inquire  from 
individual  to  individual,  in  order  to  read  collectively 
the  totality  of  the  race.  With  us,  one  is  almost  tempt- 
ed to  affirm,  the  powers  of  the  mind  display  themselves 
in  experience  detached,  as  they  are  represented  by  the 
psychologist,  and  we  see  not  only  single  subjects,  but 
whole  classes  of  men  developing  only  one  part  of  their 
dispositions,  while  the  remainder,  like  stunted  plants, 
preserve  vestiges  of  their  nature  almost  too  feeble  to 
be  recognized. 

I  do  not  fail  to  see  the  superiority  which  the  present 
race,  considered  as  a  unit  and  on  the  ground  of  intel- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


21 


lect,  may  assert  before  the  best  of  past  time ;  but  it 
must  undertake  the  contest  with  isolated  members,  and 
compare  a  whole  with  a  whole.  What  single  modern 
steps  forth,  man  to  man,  to  strive  for  the  prize  of  hu- 
manity with  a  single  Athenian? 

Whence  then,  with  every  advantage  of  the  race,  this 
disadvantageous  relation  of  individuals  ?  In  what  con- 
sisted the  qualifications  of  a  single  Grecian  to  represent 
his  time,  and  why  may  not  a  single  modern  attempt 
the  same?  Because  all-uniting  nature  had  imparted 
her  forms  to  the  former,  and  all-dividing  intellect  her 
own  to  the  latter 

It  was  culture  itself  which  dealt  modern  humanity 
this  wound.  As  soon  as  extended  experience  and  more 
precise  speculation  made  a  nicer  distinction  of  sciences 
necessary  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  more  complicated 
machinery  of  the  state  a  more  rigorous  separation  of 
rank  and  occupation  on  the  other,  the  essential  tie  of 
human  nature  was  rent,  and  a  destructive  warfare  raged 
between  harmonious  powers.  The  intuitive  and  the 
speculative  intellect  assumed  hostile  attitudes  on  their 
respective  fields,  whose  boundaries  they  now  began  to 
watch  with  jealousy  and  distrust ;  and  man,  in  confining 
his  efficiency  to  a  single  sphere,  has  created  for  him- 
self a  master  which  not  seldom,  by  overbearing,  is  wont 
to  extinguish  the  remaining  character.  While  here  a 
riotous  imagination  desolates  the  hard-earned  fruits  of 
the  intellect,  there  the  fire  of  abstraction  consumes, 
when  it  should  have  expanded  the  heart  and  inflamed 
the  fancy. 


22 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


The  new  spirit  of  government  made  complete  and 
universal  this  disorder  which  art  and  learning  com- 
menced in  the  inner  man.  Indeed,  it  was  not  to  be 
expected,  that  the  artless  organization  of  the  first  re- 
publics should  survive  the  simplicity  of  original  man- 
ners and  circumstances,  but,  instead  of  reaching  a 
more  elevated  animal  life,  it  degenerated  into  a  common 
and  clumsy  mechanism.  That  polypus-nature  of  the 
Grecian  states,  where  each  individual  enjoyed  an  inde- 
pendent existence,  and  in  case  of  need,  could  act  with 
the  whole,  now  gives  place  to  an  ingenious  enginery,  in 
which  a  mechanical  life  forms  itself  as  a  whole,  from 
the  patchwork  of  innumerable,  but  lifeless  parts.  The 
state  and  church,  laws  and  customs,  are  now  rent 
asunder;  enjoyment  is  separated  from  labor, the  means 
from  the  end,  exertion  from  recompense.  Eternally 
fettered  only  to  a  single  little  fragment  of  the  whole, 
man  fashions  himself  only  as  a  fragment ;  ever  hearing 
only  the  monotonous  whirl  of  the  wheel  which  he 
turns,  he  never  displays  the  full  harmony  of  his  being, 
and,  instead  of  coining  the  humanity  that  lies  in  his 
nature,  he  is  content  with  a  mere  impression  of  his 
occupation,  his  science.  But  even  the  scanty  frag- 
mentary portion,  which  still  binds  single  members  to 
the  whole,  depends  not  upon  forms  that  present  them- 
selves spontaneously,  (for  what  reliance  could  be 
placed  upon  a  mechanism  of  their  freedom  so  arti- 
ficial and  clandestine?)  but  is  assigned  to  them  with 
scrupulous  exactness  by  formularies,  to  which  the  free 
discernment  of  each  one  is  restricted.    The  dead  let- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


23 


ter  represents  the  living  intellect,  and  a  hackneyed 
memory  is  a  safer  guide  than  genius  and  feeling. 

If  the  commonwealth  makes  the  function  the  unit- 
measure  of  a  man,  if  it  respects  in  one  of  its  citizens 
only  memory,  in  another  an  epitomized  intellect,  in  a 
third  only  mechanical  activity ;  if,  indifferent  to  the 
character,  it  lays  stress  here  only  upon  knowledge, 
•  there  on  the  contrary  esteems  the  greatest  obscuration 
of  the  understanding  equivalent  to  a  spirit  of  order 
and  a  legitimate  demeanor  —  if  at  the  same  time,  it 
requires  these  single  modes  of  action  pushed  to  a  great 
intensity,  while  a  proportionate  extension  is  not  de- 
manded of  the  subject  —  need  it  surprise  us,  that  the 
remaining  powers  of  the  mind  are  neglected,  in  order 
to  bestow  every  attention  upon  the  single  one  which  is 
respected  and  recompensed?  It  is  true,  we  know, 
that  vigorous  genius  does  not  make  the  limits  of  its 
occupation  circumscribe  its  activity,  but  moderate 
talent  consumes  the  whole  scanty  sum  of  its  powers, 
in  the  occupation  that  has  fallen  to  its  lot,  and  it 
must  be  no  common  head,  that  can  encourage  all  its 
partialities,  without  detriment  to  its  vocation.  More- 
over it  is  seldom  a  good  recommendation  to  the  state, 
if  the  powers  transcend  their  commission,  or  if  the 
deeper  spiritual  want  of  the  man  of  genius  gives  a  rival 
to  his  business.  So  jealous  is  the  state  for  the  sole 
possession  of  its  servants,  that  it  would  sooner  deter- 
mine (and  who  can  blame  it  ?)  to  share  him  with  a 
Venus  Cytherea  than  with  a  Venus  Urania. 

And  so  gradually  the  single  concrete  life  decays, 


24 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


that  the  abstract  life  of  the  whole  may  continue  its 
precarious  existence,  and  the  state  always  remains  a 
stranger  to  its  citizens,  since  feeling  never  connects 
them  with  it.  The  governing  part,  compelled  to  lessen 
the  manifoldness  of  its  citizens,  by  classification,  and  to 
receive  humanity  at  second  hand  only  through  repre- 
sentation, at  last  entirely  overlooks  it,  confounding  it 
with  a  mere  composition  of  intellect ;  and  the  governed 
cannot  receive  but  with  coldness  the  laws  that  are  so 
little  adapted  to  them.  Finally,  tired  of  maintaining 
an  alliance,  so  little  facilitated  by  the  state,  positive 
society  results  in  a  moral  state  of  nature,  (long  ago  the 
fate  of  most  European  states)  where  open  force  makes 
only  one  party  more,  hated  and  eluded  by  that  which 
makes  it  necessary,  and  only  respected  by  that  which 
can  dispense  with  it. 

Could  humanity,  beneath  this  twofold  tyranny  which 
presses  it  from  within  and  without,  well  take  any  other 
direction,  than  it  actually  has  taken  ?  While  the  spec- 
ulative spirit  strives  after  inalienable  possessions  in 
the  realm  of  idea,  it  must  be  a  stranger  in  the  world 
of  sense,  and  relinquish  the  matter  for  the  form.  The 
spirit  of  business,  confined  within  a  uniform  circle  of 
objects,  and  in  this  still  more  circumscribed  by  for- 
mulas, must  lose  cognizance  of  the  independent  whole, 
daily  becoming  more  impoverished  in  its  sphere.  Thus 
while  the  one  attempts  to  model  the  actual  according 
to  the  speculative,  and  to  elevate  its  subjective  ab- 
stract conditions  into  constitutional  laws  for  the  exist- 
ence of  things,  the  other  hastens  in  the  opposite  ex- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


25 


treme,  to  estimate  generally  all  experience  according 
to  a  particular  fragment  of  experience,  and  to  apply 
the  rules  of  its  own  occupation  to  every  occupation 
without  distinction.  The  former  must  become  the 
prey  of  an  empty  subtilty,  the  latter  of  a  pedantic  nar- 
rowness, since  the  one  was  too  high  for  the  partial, 
the  other  too  low  for  the  whole.  But  the  detriment 
of  this  mental  tendency  is  not  confined  to  knowledge 
and  production,  it  extends  no  less  to  perception  and 
action.  We  know,  that  the  sensibility  of  the  mind 
depends  for  its  degree  upon  the  vivacity,  for  its  extent 
upon  the  richness,  of  the  imagination.  But  the  pre- 
ponderance of  the  analytic  faculty  must  necessarily 
deprive  the  fancy  of  its  power  and  fire,  and  a  limited 
sphere  of  objects  must  diminish  its  richness.  Hence 
the  abstract  thinker  often  has  a  cold  heart,  since  he 
analyzes  the  impressions,  which  only  affect  the  soul 
as  a  whole ;  the  man  of  business  has  often  a  narrow 
heart,  since  his  imagination,  invested  by  the  uniform 
routine  of  his  vocation,  cannot  enlarge  itself  to  a 
foreign  mode  of  conception. 

It  lay  in  my  way,  to  show  the  pernicious  tendency  of 
the  character  of  the  age  and  its  source,  not  the  advan- 
tages, whereby  nature  makes  compensation.  I  freely 
assert,  that,  however  little  this  dismemberment  of  be- 
ing can  benefit  individuals,  the  race  could  have  made 
progress  in  no  other  manner.  The  phenomenon  of 
Grecian  humanity  was  undoubtedly  a  maximum,  which 
could  neither  be  maintained  nor  surpassed.  Not  main- 
tained, because  the  intellect  must  infallibly  have  been 


2G 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


impelled,  by  the  stock  which  it  already  had,  to  desert 
sensation  and  intuition,  and  strive  after  distinctness  of 
knowledge ;  and  not  surpassed,  because  only  a  certain 
degree  of  clearness  can  consist  with  a  certain  fullness 
and  warmth.  The  Greeks  had  attained  this  degree, 
and  if  they  had  desired  to  realize  a  higher  cultivation, 
they  must  have  surrendered,  like  ourselves,  the  totality 
of  their  being,  and  pursued  truth  through  diverse  by- 
paths. 

There  was  no  other  method  of  developing  man's 
manifold  dispositions,  than  by  placing  them  in  opposi- 
tion. This  antagonism  of  powers  is  the  great  instru- 
ment of  culture,  but  still  only  the  instrument ;  for  so 
long  as  the  antagonism  lasts,  one  is  only  on  the  way  to 
culture.  The  single  powers  of  man  isolate  themselves 
and  arrogate  an  exclusive  legislation  ;  and  for  this  rea- 
son alone,  they  are  found  at  variance  with  the  truth  of 
things,  and  compel  the  common  sense,  which  usually 
rests  with  idle  satisfaction  in  outward  appearances,  to 
press  into  the  depths  of  objects.  While  the  pure  intel- 
lect usurps  an  authority  in  the  external  world,  and  the 
empirical  is  employed  in  subjecting  it  to  the  conditions 
of  experience,  both  dispositions  expand  to  their  utmost 
ripeness,  and  exhaust  the  whole  extent  of  their  sphere. 
While  in  one  the  imagination  dares  to  dissolve  by  its 
caprice  the  universal  order,  it  compels  in  the  other  the 
reason  to  climb  to  the  highest  sources  of  knowledge, 
and  to  call  in  aid  against  it  the  law  of  necessity. 

Partiality  in  the  exercise  of  powers  leads,  it  is  true, 
the  individual  inevitably  into  error,  but  the  race  to 


^ESTHETIC  culture. 


27 


truth.  We  concentrate  the  whole  energy  of  our  spirit 
in  one  focus,  and  draw  together  our  whole  being  into 
a  single  power,  and  for  this  reason  alone,  we  bestow  as 
it  were  wings  upon  this  single  power,  and  bear  it  in- 
geniously far  over  the  limits  which  nature  seems  to 
have  imposed  upon  it.  As  certain  as  that  all  human 
individuals  combined,  with  the  powers  of  vision  that  na- 
ture has  bestowed  upon  them,  could  never  succeed  in 
discovering  a  satellite  of  Jupiter,  which  the  astrono- 
mer's telescope  reveals ;  just  so  certain  is  it,  that  hu- 
man reflection  would  never  have  conducted  an  analysis 
of  the  infinite  or  a  criticism  of  pure  reason,  if  the  rea- 
son had  not  apportioned  itself  to  single  kindred  sub- 
jects, freed  as  it  were  from  all  matter,  and  had  not 
strengthened  its  glance  into  the  absolute  by  the  highest 
effort  of  abstraction.  But  in  fact  would  such  a  spirit, 
dissolved  in  pure  intellect  and  contemplation,  be  fit  to 
exchange  for  the  stern  fetters  of  logic  the  free  gait  of 
imagination,  and  to  comprehend  the  individuality  of 
things  with  just  and  pure  perception  ?  Here  nature 
places  limits  to  universal  genius,  which  it  cannot  trans- 
gress, and  the  truth  will  make  martyrs  so  long  as  phi- 
losophy makes  its  chief  business  the  laying  down  regu- 
lations against  error. 

Thus,  however  much  may  be  gained  for  the  world  as 
a  whole  by  this  fragmentary  cultivation,  it  is  not  to  be 
denied,  that  the  individuals  whom  it  befalls,  are  cursed 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world.  An  athletic  frame,  it  is 
true,  is  fashioned  by  gymnastic  exercises,  but  a  form  of 
beauty  only  by  free  and  uniform  action.    Just  so  the 


28 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


exertions  of  single  talents  can  create  extraordinary  men 
indeed,  but  happy  and  perfect  men  only  by  their  uni- 
form temperature.  And  in  what  relation  should  we 
stand  then  to  the  past  and  coming  age,  if  the  cultiva- 
tion of  human  nature  made  necessary  such  a  sacrifice  1 
We  should  have  been  the  slaves  of  humanity,  and 
drudged  for  her  century  after  century,  and  stamped  up- 
on our  mutilated  natures  the  humiliating  traces  of  our 
bondage  —  that  the  coming  race  might  nurse  its  moral 
healthfulness  in  blissful  leisure,  and  unfold  the  free 
growth  of  its  humanity  ! 

But  can  it  be  intended  that  man  should  neglect  him- 
self for  any  particular  design  ?  Ought  nature  to  de" 
prive  us  by  its  design  of  a  perfection,  which  reason  by 
its  own  prescribes  to  us  ?  Then  it  must  be  false  that 
the  development  of  single  faculties  makes  the  sacrifice 
of  totality  necessary;  or,  if  indeed  the  law  of  nature 
presses  thus  heavily,  it  becomes  us,  to  restore  by  a 
higher  art,  this  totality  in  our  nature  which  art  has  de- 
stroyed. 


SEVENTH  LETTER. 


Should  we  look  for  this  effect  from  the  state  ?  That 
is  impossible,  since  the  state  as  at  present  constituted, 
has  induced  the  evil,  and  the  state  which  the  reason 
presents  to  itself  in  idea,  instead  of  being  able  to  found 
this  improved  humanity,  must  first  be  founded  thereon 
itself.  And  so  my  researches  hitherto  have  led  me 
back  to  the  point,  from  which  they  drew  me  for  a 
time.  The  present  age,  far  from  exhibiting  to  us  such 
a  form  of  humanity,  as  is  known  to  be  the  necessary 
condition  for  a  moral  reform  of  the  state,  shows  us 
rather  the  direct  opposite.  Then  if  the  principles  laid 
down  by  me  are  accurate,  and  experience  sanctions 
my  sketch  of  the  present,  it  is  evident  that  every  ex- 
periment in  such  a  reform  is  so  long  premature,  and 
every  hope  founded  thereon  chimerical,  till  the  divi- 
sions of  the  inner  man  are  again  abolished,  and  his 
nature  is  so  far  developed,  that  she  herself  may  be  the 
artist,  and  warrant  the  reality  of  the  reason's  political 
creation. 

Nature  traces  out  for  us  in  the  physical,  the  way  we 
should  pursue  in  the  moral  creation.  She  does  not 
apply  herself  to  the  noble  formation  of  the  physical 
man,  till  she  has  quieted  the  strife  of  elementary  pow- 
ers in  the  lower  organizations.    Just  so  must  the  strife 


30 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


of  elements  in  the  ethical  man,  the  conflict  of  blind 
instincts,  be  first  appeased,  and  stupid  opposition  must 
have  ceased  in  him,  before  he  can  venture  to  gratify 
his  manifoldness.  On  the  other  side,  the  self-depend- 
ence of  his  character  must  be  secured,  and  the  subjec- 
tion of  a  becoming  freedom  to  external,  despotic  forms 
must  be  abolished,  before  he  can  submit  his  manifold- 
ness to  the  unity  of  the  ideal.  Where  the  child  of 
nature  still  abuses  his  caprice  so  lawlessly,  one  hardly 
need  point  out  to  him  his  freedom ;  where  the  edu- 
cated man  still  neglects  his  freedom,  one  need  not 
deprive  him  of  his  caprice.  The  gift  of  liberal  princi- 
ples is  treason  to  the  whole,  if  it  joins  itself  to  a  power 
that  is  still  tumultuous,  and  strengthens  an  already 
superior  nature  ;  the  law  of  conformity  becomes 
tyranny  to  the  individual,  when  it  is  combined  with  an 
already  prevailing  weakness  and  physical  constraint, 
thus  quenching  the  last  glimmering  sparks  of  self-ac- 
tivity and  possession. 

The  character  of  the  age  then  must  first  recover 
from  its  deep  abasement ;  in  one  quarter,  nature  must 
resign  its  blind  force,  and  in  another  return  to  its  sim- 
plicity, truth  and  fulness  ;  the  work  of  more  than  a 
century.  In  the  mean  time,  I  readily  allow,  that  many 
isolated  experiments  can  succeed,  but  on  the  whole, 
nothing  will  be  thereby  gained,  and  the  contradic- 
tion of  conduct  with  the  unity  of  maxims  will  be 
continually  manifest.  In  the  other  hemisphere,  hu- 
manity will  be  respected  in  the  negro,  and  in  Europe 
disgraced  in  the  thinker.    The  old  principles  will  re- 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


31 


main,  but  they  will  wear  the  dress  of  the  century,  and 
philosophy  will  lend  her  name  to  an  oppression,  which 
once  the  church  authorized.  In  one  quarter  men  will 
throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  a  convenient  bond- 
age, terrified  at  the  freedom  which  always  declared 
itself  inimical  in  their  first  essays  ;  and  in  another, 
stung  to  desperation  by  a  pedantic  guardianship,  will 
escape  to  the  wild  licentiousness  of  a  state  of  nature. 
Usurpation  will  appeal  to  the  infirmity  of  human  na- 
ture, insurrection  to  its  dignity,  till  finally  brute  force, 
the  great  mistress  of  all  human  things,  interferes,  and 
decides  the  sham  contest  of  principles  like  a  common 
boxing-match. 


EIGHTH  LETTER. 


Shall  philosophy  retire  then  from  this  sphere,  de- 
jected and  despairing  ?  While  the  dominion  of  forms 
extends  itself  in  every  other  direction,  shall  this  greatest 
of  all  possessions  be  surrendered  to  arbitrary  chance  ? 
Will  the  conflict  of  blind  forces  endure  forever  in  the 
political  world,  and  hostile  selfishness  never  succumb 
to  social  law  ? 

By  no  means  !  Reason,  it  is  true,  will  not  immedi- 
ately attempt  a  struggle  with  this  brutal  force  which 
resists  its  weapons,  nor  appear  upon  the  gloomy  arena 
unsustained,  any  more  than  the  son  of  Saturn  in  the 
Iliad.  But  it  elects  the  worthiest  from  the  crowd  of 
combatants,  arrays  him  as  Jupiter  did  his  grandson,  in 
divine  armor,  and  through  his  conquering  might  ac- 
complishes the  high  resolve. 

Reason  has  performed  all  it  can  perform,  when  it 
discovers  and  exhibits  the  law ;  the  courageous  will 
and  lively  feeling  must  execute  it.  If  truth  would 
conquer  in  the  warfare  with  force,  itself  must  first  be- 
come a  force,  and  furnish  an  impulse  to  its  counsel  in 
the  realm  of  phenomena ;  since  impulses  are  the  only 
inciting  powers  in  the  world  of  sensation.  If  truth  has 
hitherto  shown  its  superiority  but  little,  it  is  not  the 
fault  of  the  intellect,  which  knew  not  how  to  unveil  it, 
but  of  the  heart  which  closed  itself  against  it,  and  of  the 
impulses  which  refused  to  lend  their  activity. 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


33 


Then  with  all  the  conspicuous  lights  of  philosophy 
and  experience,  whence  is  this  still  universal  influence 
of  prejudice,  and  this  beclouded  understanding?  The 
ao-e  is  enlightened,  that  is,  those  sciences  are  discovered 
and  laid  open,  which  are  at  least  adequate  to  direct  our 
practical  principles.  The  spirit  of  free  inquiry  has 
destroyed  the  false  conceptions,  which  long  obstructed 
the  passage  to  truth,  and  has  undermined  the  founda- 
tion on  which  fanaticism  and  fraud  had  reared  their 
throne.  Reason  has  purged  itself  from  the  illusions  of 
sense  and  of  a  deceitful  sophistry,  and  philosophy  itself, 
which  at  first  seduced  us  from  our  allegiance,  loudly 
and  pressingly  calls  us  back  to  the  bosom  of  nature. 
Why  is  it  that  we  are  still  barbarians  ? 

Thus  there  must  be  something  existing  in  the  dispo- 
sitions of  men,  since  it  lies  not  in  things,  which  im- 
pedes the  reception  of  truth,  though  ever  so  forcibly 
convincing  or  luminous.  An  ancient  sage  has  detected 
it,  and  it  lies  concealed  in  the  significant  expression, 
sap  ere  aude. 

Dare  to  be  wise.  Energy  of  spirit  is  requisite  to 
overcome  the  obstructions  which  faint-heartedness  as 
well  as  the  indolence  of  nature  oppose  to  education. 
Not  without  a  significance  did  the  goddess  of  wisdom 
in  the  old  fable,  step  in  full  armor  from  the  head  of  Ju- 
piter ;  since  her  first  occupation  is  warlike.  At  her 
very  birth  she  has  to  maintain  a  hard  contest  with  the 
senses,  who  will  not  be  torn  from  their  sweet  repose. 
The  more  numerous  part  of  mankind  are  too  much 
harassed  and  exhausted  by  the  contest  with  need,  ever 
3 


34 


vESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


to  gird  themselves  for  a  new  and  sterner  contest  with 
error.  Contented  to  escape  the  tedious  toil  of  reflec- 
tion, they  willingly  submit  their  ideas  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  others,  and  should  it  happen  that  higher  wants 
stimulate  them,  they  embrace  with  eager  faith  the 
forms  which  the  state  and  priesthood  hold  in  readiness 
for  this  emergency.  If  these  unhappy  men  demand 
our  pity,  so  our  just  contempt  lights  upon  those  others 
whom  a  better  lot  frees  from  the  yoke  of  need,  which 
they  bear  from  their  own  choice.  Where  feeling  is 
most  lively,  and  fancy  frames  at  will  convenient  im- 
ages, they  draw  the  twilight  of  indistinct  conceptions 
before  the  rays  of  truth,  which  chase  away  the  fond 
delusion  of  their  dreams.  They  found  the  whole 
structure  of  their  happiness  upon  those  very  deceptions 
which  the  hostile  light  of  knowledge  should  disperse, 
and  they  ought  to  purchase  that  truth  so  dear,  which 
commences  by  depriving  them  of  all  that  they  valued. 
They  must  already  be  wise,  in  order  to  love  wisdom ; 
a  truth,  which  he  indeed  felt,  who  gave  philosophy  its 
name. 

Therefore  it  is  not  enough  that  all  intellectual  im- 
provement deserves  our  regard  only  so  far  as  it  flows 
back  upon  the  character ;  it  must  in  a  manner  proceed 
from  the  character,  since  the  way  to  the  head  must  be 
opened  through  the  heart.  Cultivation  of  the  percep- 
tive faculty  is  then  the  most  pressing  want  of  the  age, 
not  only  as  a  means  to  make  a  practical  application  of 
an  improved  insight,  but  for  its  own  sake,  because  it 
prompts  to  this  improvement  of  insight. 


NINTH  LETTER. 


But  are  we  not  proceeding  in  a  circle  ?  Must  theo- 
retical culture  precede  the  practical,  and  yet  the  latter 
be  the  condition  of  the  former  ?  All  political  improve- 
ments should  result  from  nobility  of  character  —  but 
how  can  the  character  ennoble  itself  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  barbarous  civil  polity  ?  We  must  find  then 
an  instrument  for  this  design,  which  the  state  does  not 
afford,  and  lay  open  sources,  which  preserve  them- 
selves pure  and  undefiled  in  every  political  deprava- 
tion. 

I  have  now  reached  the  point,  to  which  all  my  pre- 
vious meditations  have  tended.  This  instrument  is 
the  fine  arts ;  those  sources  are  displayed  in  their  un- 
dying models. 

Art,  like  knowledge,  is  independent  of  everything 
that  is  positive  or  established  by  human  conventions, 
and  both  enjoy  an  absolute  immunity  from  the  caprice 
of  men.  The  political  lawgiver  can  encroach  upon 
its  province,  but  he  cannot  govern  there.  He  can 
outlaw  the  friend  of  truth,  but  truth  remains ;  he  can 
humble  the  artist,  but  cannot  debase  the  art.  It  is 
true,  nothing  is  more  common,  than  that  both  science 
and  art  should  do  homage  to  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
whose  judgments  give  the  tone  to  the  prevailing  taste. 


36 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


Where  the  character  is  tense  and  hardened,  we  see 
science  watching  narrowly  its  limits,  and  art  moving 
in  the  galling  fetters  of  rule  ;  where  the  character  is 
relaxed  and  dissolute,  science  strives  to  satisfy  and  art 
to  delight.  Whole  centuries  have  shown  philosophers 
as  well  as  artists  busied  in  immersing  truth  and  beauty 
in  the  depths  of  a  vulgar  humanity  ;  the  former  sink, 
but  the  latter  struggles  up  victoriously  in  her  own 
indestructible  energy. 

It  is  true,  the  artist  is  the  son  of  his  time,  but  alas 
for  him,  if  he  is  likewise  its  pupil,  or  even  favorite. 
Let  a  kind  divinity  snatch  the  suckling  betimes  from 
his  mother's  breast,  nourish  him  with  the  milk  of  a 
better  age,  and  let  him  come  to  maturity  beneath  a 
distant  Grecian  sky.  Then  when  he  has  become  a 
man,  let  him  return,  a  foreign  shape,  into  his  century; 
not  to  delight  it  with  his  appearance,  but  terrible,  like 
Agamemnon's  son,  to  purify  it.  He  will  take  his  ma- 
terial, indeed,  from  the  present,  but  borrow  his  form 
from  a  nobler  time,  nay,  from  beyond  all  time,  from 
the  absolute,  unchangeable  unity  of  his  being.  Here, 
from  the  pure  ether  of  his  divine  nature,  runs  down  the 
fountain  of  Beauty,  undefiled  by  the  corruption  of  races 
and  times,  which  fret  far  beneath  him  in  troubled 
whirlpools.  Whim  can  dishonor  his  material,  as  it 
has  ennobled  it,  but  the  chaste  form  is  removed  from 
its  vicissitudes.  The  Roman  of  the  first  century  had 
long  bent  the  knee  before  the  purple,  but  the  statues 
still  stood  erect ;  the  temple  remained  holy  to  the  eyes 
long  after  the  gods  had  served  for  laughter ;  and  the 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


37 


atrocities  of  a  Nero  and  Commodus  disgraced  the  no- 
ble style  of  the  edifice,  that  lent  to  them  its  conceal- 
ment. Humanity  has  lost  its  dignity,  but  art  has 
rescued  and  preserved  it  in  significant  marbles  ;  truth 
survives  in  the  midst  of  deception,  and  the  original  will 
be  restored  from  the  copy.  And  as  noble  art  survives 
noble  nature,  so  she  precedes  it,  animating  and  creat- 
ing in  her  inspiration.  Before  truth  sends  its  triumph- 
ant light  into  the  recesses  of  the  heart,  the  imagina- 
tion intercepts  its  rays ;  and  the  summit  of  humanity 
is  radiant,  while  the  damp  night  still  lingers  in  the 
valleys. 

But  how  can  the  artist  protect  himself  from  the  cor- 
ruptions of  his  age,  which  on  all  sides  surround  him  ? 
By  despising  its  judgment.  Let  him  look  upwards  to 
his  dignity  and  the  law,  not  downwards  to  his  pros- 
perity and  his  wants.  Alike  free  from  the  vain  activ- 
ity, that  would  fain  leave  its  traces  on  the  fleeting 
moment,  and  from  the  impatient  enthusiasm,  that  ap- 
plies the  scale  of  the  absolute  to  the  paltry  product  of 
time,  let  him  leave  to  the  understanding,  which  is  here 
at  home,  the  sphere  of  the  actual ;  but  let  him  strive 
to  evolve  the  ideal  from  the  union  of  the  possible  with 
the  necessary.  This  let  him  express  in  fiction  and 
truth,  in  the  play  of  his  fancy  and  in  the  gravity  of  his 
deeds,  in  all  sensible  and  spiritual  forms,  and  cast  it 
silently  into  infinite  time. 

But  every  one  whose  soul  glows  with  this  ideal,  does 
not  possess  the  creative  tranquillity  and  patience,  to  im- 
press it  upon  the  silent  stone,  or  pour  it  out  in  sober 


38 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


words,  and  commit  it  to  the  trusty  hands  of  time.  Far 
too  impetuous  to  preserve  this  peaceful  medium,  the 
divine  productive  faculty  often  rushes  upon  the  present 
and  active  life,  and  undertakes  to  refashion  the  form- 
less material  of  the  moral  world.  Human  misery 
speaks  appealingly  to  a  feeling  man,  human  degradation 
still  more  touchingly  ;  enthusiasm  is  enflamed,  and 
ardent  longing  strives  impatiently  in  the  vigorous  soul 
to  become  a  deed.  But  does  he  ask  himself  whether 
this  disorder  in  the  moral  world  offends  his  reason,  or 
does  not  rather  grieve  his  self-love.  If  he  does  not 
yet  know  it,  he  will  discover  it  in  the  zeal  with  which 
he  labors  after  definite  and  accelerated  effects.  The 
pure  moral  instinct  seeks  the  absolute,  it  has  no  time  ; 
and  the  future  is  as  the  present,  as  soon  as  it  necessa- 
rily results  from  the  present.  To  an  unlimited  reason 
the  intention  coincides  with  the  fulfilment,  and  when 
the  course  is  chosen,  it  is  accomplished. 

Then  I  would  say  to  the  young  disciple  of  Truth  and 
Beauty,  who  would  know  how  to  satisfy  the  noble  im- 
pulse of  his  heart,  through  every  opposition  of  the 
century,  I  would  say,  give  the  world  beneath  your  in- 
fluence, a  direction  towards  the  good,  and  the  tranquil 
rhythm  of  time  will  bring  its  development.  You  have 
given  it  this  direction,  if  as  a  teacher  you  elevate  its 
thoughts  to  the  necessary  and  eternal ;  if,  while  acting 
or  composing,  you  transform  the  necessary  and  eternal 
into  an  object  of  its  impulse.  The  fabric  of  error  and 
caprice  will  fall,  it  must  —  nay,  it  has  already  fallen, 
when  you  are  sure  that  it  declines  ;  but  it  must  decline 


./ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


39 


not  only  in  the  outward  but  in  the  inner  man.  Create 
the  conquering  truth  in  the  modest  stillness  of  your 
soul,  array  it  in  a  form  of  beauty,  that  not  only  thought 
may  pay  it  homage,  but  sense  lovingly  comprehend  its 
presence.  And  lest  you  should  chance  to  take  the 
pattern  you  would  give  it  from  reality,  do  not  venture 
into  its  hazardous  society,  till  you  are  sure  of  an  ideal 
retinue  in  your  heart.  Live  with  your  century,  but 
be  not  its  creature  ;  bestow  upon  your  contemporaries 
not  what  they  praise,  but  what  they  need.  Share 
with  a  noble  resignation  their  punishment,  without 
sharing  their  fault,  and  bend  with  freedom  beneath 
the  yoke,  which  with  equal  ill  grace  they  miss  or  suf- 
fer. You  will  prove  to  them,  by  the  resolute  spirit 
with  which  you  slight  their  fortune,  how  little  their 
misery  resulted  from  your  effeminacy.  Imagine  them 
as  they  should  be,  if  you  are  to  influence  them,  but 
regard  them  as  they  are,  if  you  are  tempted  to  work 
for  them.  Through  their  dignity  seek  their  approba- 
tion, but  impute  their  fortune  to  their  unworthiness  ; 
thus,  on  the  one  hand,  your  own  nobility  will  arouse 
theirs,  and  their  demerit,  on  the  other,  will  not  annul 
your  design.  In  the  graceful  play  of  your  fancy  they 
would  tolerate  your  principles,  from  whose  naked  seve- 
rity they  would  shrink ;  their  taste  is  purer  than  their 
heart,  and  here  you  must  seize  the  timorous  incon- 
stant. You  will  in  vain  attack  their  opinions,  in  vain 
condemn  their  deeds,  but  you  can  make  essay  of  your 
forming  hand  in  their  leisure.  Banish  caprice,  frivo- 
lity, rudeness,  from  their  pleasures,  and  you  will  ban- 


40 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


ish  them  imperceptibly  from  their  actions,  finally  even 
from  their  inclinations.  Wherever  you  find  them,  en- 
circle them  with  noble,  great  and  spiritual  forms ; 
invest  them  with  the  symbols  of  all  that  is  excellent, 
till  reality  bends  to  the  ideal,  and  nature  to  art. 


TENTH  LETTER. 


Then  you  agree  with  me  in  this  respect,  convinced 
by  the  contents  of  my  previous  letters,  that  man  may 
be  drawn  upon  two  opposite  courses  from  his  destina- 
tion, that  our  age  is  actually  pursuing  both  these  by- 
paths, and  has  fallen  a  prey,  on  one  side,  to  rudeness, 
on  the  other,  to  perverseness  and  relaxation.  Beauty 
must  restore  it  from  this  twofold  confusion  ;  but  how 
can  the  culture  of  Beauty  oppose  at  once  two  distinct 
errors,  and  unite  in  itself  two  most  contrary  disposi- 
tions ?  Can  it  fetter  nature  in  the  savage,  or  free  it 
in  the  barbarian?  Can  it  at  the  same  time  bind  and 
loose  ?  and  if  it  does  not  really  accomplish  both,  how 
can  so  great  an  effect  as  the  education  of  humanity  be 
reasonably  expected  from  her? 

Indeed  one  must  have  heard  to  satiety  the  assertion, 
that  morals  are  refined  by  an  expanded  taste  for  the 
beautiful,  so  that  no  new  proof  of  this  appears  to  be 
necessary.  We  rely  upon  daily  experience,  which 
almost  universally  shows  clearness  of  intellect,  quick- 
ness of  perception,  liberality  and  even  dignity  of  con- 
duct, united  with  a  cultivated  taste,  and  commonly  the 
very  opposite,  with  a  taste  that  is  uncultivated.  We  * 
appeal  with  sufficient  confidence  to  the  example  of  the 
most  refined  of  all  the  nations  of  antiquity,  with  whom 


42  ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 

# 

the  perception  of  beauty  was  perfectly  developed,  and 
to  the  contrary  example  of  people  partly  savage,  partly 
barbarous,  who  expiate  their  insensibility  to  beauty  by 
a  rude  or  austere  character.  Yet  not  the  less  does  it 
sometimes  occur  to  speculators,  either  to  deny  the 
fact,  or  to  doubt  the  lawfulness  of  the  conclusion. 
Their  opinion  of  that  wildness  with  which  unpolished 
nations  are  reproached,  is  not  so  utterly  bad,  nor  do 
they  think  so  favorably  of  that  refinement,  which  is 
commended  in  the  polished.  There  were  men  even 
in  antiquity,  who  esteemed  polite  culture  by  no  means 
a  benefit,  and  therefore  were  strongly  inclined  to  for- 
bid the  introduction  of  the  imaginative  arts  into  their 
republic. 

I  speak  not  of  those  who  only  revile  the  graces,  hav- 
ing never  experienced  their  favor.  How  should  they, 
who  know  no  other  measure  of  worth  than  the  toil  of 
acquisition  and  its  palpable  results,  be  capable  of  esti- 
mating the  calm  operation  of  taste  upon  the  outward 
and  inward  man,  while  they  regard  the  fortuitous  dis- 
advantages of  polite  culture,  without  its  essential  ben- 
efits. The  man  without  perception  of  form  despises 
all  grace  in  eloquence  as  corruption,  all  elegance  in 
conversation  as  hypocrisy,  all  delicacy  and  loftiness  of 
demeanor  as  exaggeration  and  affectation.  He  can 
never  forgive  it  in  the  favorite  of  the  graces,  that,  as  a 
companion,  he  adorns  all  circles,  as  a  man  of  business 
moulds  all  heads  to  his  designs,  as  an  author,  imprints, 
perhaps,  his  spirit  on  the  whole  of  his  century,  while 
he,  the  victim  of  drudgery,  with  all  his  knowledge  can 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


43 


command  no  attention,  nor  move  so  much  as  a  stone 
from  its  place.  And  since  he  can  never  acquire  from 
the  former  the  genial  secret  of  being  agreeable,  no- 
thing else  remains  for  him  but  to  mourn  over  the  per- 
versity of  human  nature,  which  honors  the  appearance 
more  than  the  substance. 

But  there  are  more  respectable  voices,  who  declare 
against  the  tendencies  of  Beauty,  and  come  prepared 
with  formidable  arguments  drawn  from  experience. 
"  It  cannot  be  denied,'"'  they  say,  "  that  the  charms 
of  Beauty  can  subserve  praiseworthy  designs,  in  proper 
hands,  but  it  is  equally  conformable  to  their  nature, 
to  subserve  the  very  opposite  in  depraved  hands,  and 
to  employ  their  fascinating  power  in  the  service  of 
error  and  wickedness.  For  the  reason  that  taste  re- 
spects not  the  substance  but  only  the  form,  it  gives  the 
mind  at  last  a  dangerous  tendency  to  neglect,  for  the 
most  part,  all  reality,  and  to  sacrifice  truth  and  moral- 
ity for  an  attractive  exterior.  It  confounds  all  actual 
distinctions  of  things,  and  attaches  merit  only  to  ap- 
pearance. How  many  gifted  men,"  they  continue, 
"  are  seduced  from  a  serious  and  steady  activity  by 
the  alluring  potency  of  Beauty,  or  at  least  to  dissipate 
their  powers  !  How  many  weak  intellects  are  for  this 
reason  alone  at  variance  with  homely  reality,  since  it 
pleases  the  fancy  of  poets,  to  portray  a  world  where 
everything  wears  a  different  aspect,  where  no  expedi- 
ency binds  opinion,  no  art  subjects  nature.  What 
dangerous  logic  have  the  passions  acquired,  since  they 
have  been  arrayed  in  the  most  attractive  colors  in  the 


44 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


poet's  painting,  and  commonly  maintain  the  field  in 
the  struggle  with  principle  and  duty  !  What  indeed 
has  society  gained,  since  Beauty  gives  laws  to  that 
intercourse  which  truth  once  governed,  and  since  the 
outward  impression  commands  the  respect  which 
should  only  be  united  to  merit.  It  is  true,  we  now  see  • 
all  the  virtues  flourish,  whieh  strike  favorably  in  ap- 
pearance, and  lend  a  worth  to  society  ;  but  we  behold 
too  all  extravagances  in  full  sway,  and  all  vices  in 
vogue  which  recommend  themselves  by  a  fair  outside." 
In  fact  it  must  awaken  reflection,  when  we  find  hu- 
manity prostrate  in  almost  every  epoch  of  history, 
where  the  arts  flourish  and  taste  is  supreme  ;  and  not 
a  single  example  occurs,  where  a  high  degree  and 
great  universality  of  aesthetic  culture  has  gone  hand  in 
hand  with  political  freedom  and  civil  virtue,  or  refined 
manners  with  good  manners,  or  polished  demeanor 
with  truth. 

So  long  as  Athens  and  Sparta  maintained  their  in- 
dependence, and  reverence  for  the  laws  was  the  basis 
of  their  constitution,  taste  was  immature,  art  in  its  in- 
fancy, and  Beauty  was  far  from  swaying  the  disposi- 
tion. It  is  true,  poetry  had  essayed  an  elevated  flight, 
but  only  in  the  soarings  of  a  genius  which  we  know 
is  closely  connected  with  a  state  of  rudeness,  and  is  a 
light  which  frequently  shines  from  the  midst  of  dark- 
ness ;  which  then  testifies  rather  against  than  for- the 
taste  of  its  age.  As  the  golden  age  of  art  advanced 
under  Pericles  and  Alexander,  and  the  influence  of 
taste  extended  more  widely,  we  find  no  more  the  Gre- 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


45 


cian  energy  and  freedom  ;  eloquence  adulterated  truth, 
wisdom  was  an  offence  in  the  mouth  of  a  Socrates,  and 
virtue  in  the  life  of  a  Phocion.  The  Romans,  we 
know,  were  obliged  to  exhaust  their  strength  in  civil 
wars,  and  enervated  by  eastern  luxury,  to  bow  beneath 
the  yoke  of  a  fortunate  dynasty,  before  we  see  the  tri- 
umph of  Grecian  art  over  the  rigidity  of  their  charac- 
ter. And  the  dawn  of  civilization  did  not  break  over 
Arabia,  until  the  energy  of  its  warlike  spirit  had  be- 
come relaxed  beneath  the  sceptre  of  the  Abassides. 
The  fine  arts  did  not  appear  in  modern  Italy,  till  the 
powerful  alliance  of  the  Lombards  was  broken,  till 
Florence  had  submitted  to  the  Medici,  and  the  spirit 
*  of  independence  in  all  those  vigorous  states  had  given 
place  to  inglorious  submission.  It  is  well-nigh  su- 
perfluous to  cite  the  examples  of  more  modern  na- 
tions, whose  refinement  increased  in  proportion  to 
the  decrease  of  their  self-dependence.  Wherever  we 
turn  our  eyes  in  the  past,  we  discover  that  taste 
and  freedom  desert  each  other,  and  "that  Beauty 
founds  her  dominion  only  upon  the  ruins  of  heroic 
virtue. 

And  yet  this  very  energy  of  character,  with  which 
aesthetic  culture  is  commonly  purchased,  is  the  most 
powerful  incentive  to  all  that  is  great  and  excellent  in 
man,  the  want  of  which  no  other,  though  a  greater, 
preeminence  can  supply.  Then  if  one  is  directed  only 
by  that  which  former  experience  teaches  concerning 
the  influence  of  Beauty,  he  can  in  fact  be  little  encour- 
aged to  cultivate  feelings  which  are  so  dangerous  to 


46 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


man's  true  culture  ;  and  would  rather  dispense  with  the 
flattering  charm  of  Beauty,  even  at  the  peril  of  rude- 
ness and  austerity,  than  experience  its  enervating 
effects  with  all  the  advantages  of  refinement.  But 
perhaps  experience  is  not  the  tribunal,  before  which 
a  question  like  this  should  be  decided ;  and  before  we 
allow  any  weight  to  its  testimony,  it  must  first  be 
placed  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  beauty  against  which 
all  those  former  examples  bear,  is  the  same  Beauty 
concerning  which  we  speak.  But  this  appears  to  pre- 
sume a  conception  of  Beauty,  drawn  from  some  other 
source  than  experience  ;  since  by  it  we  shall  discover, 
whether  that  called  so  in  experience,  is  justly  entitled 
to  its  name. 

This  pure  idea  of  Beauty,  if  such  a  one  can  be  found, 
must  be  sought  then,  since  it  can  be  deduced  from  no 
actual  case,  but  rather  rectifies  and  guides  our  judgment 
concerning  such,  by  means  of  abstraction,  and  can  al- 
ready be  inferred  from  the  possibility  of  the  sensuo- 
rational  nature;  in  a  word  —  Beauty  must  discover 
itself  to  be  a  necessary  condition  of  humanity.  There- 
fore we  must  elevate  ourselves  to  a  pure  conception 
of  humanity,  and  since  experience  only  discloses  sin- 
gle conditions  of  single  men,  but  never  humanity,  we 
must  seek  to  discover  from  these  its  individual  and 
changeable  modes,  the  absolute  and  permanent,  and 
to  apprehend  the  necessary  conditions  of  its  being,  by 
a  rejection  of  all  accidental  limits.  This  transcen- 
dental path  will,  it  is  true,  separate  us  for  a  time  from 
the  familiar  sphere  of  phenomena,  and  from  the  living 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


47 


present,  and  delay  us  on  the  open  field  of  abstract 
conceptions.  But  we  strive  thence  after  a  stable  basis 
of  knowledge,  which  nothing  shall  ever  agitate.  He 
who  never  ventures  beyond  the  actual,  will  never  make 
a  prize  of  truth. 


ELEVENTH  LETTER. 


When  abstraction  mounts  to  the  limit  of  its  power, 
it  attains  to  two  ultimate  conceptions,  beyond  which 
it  is  impossible  to  proceed.  It  distinguishes  in  man 
something  that  is  permanent,  and  something  that 
changes  incessantly.  It  calls  the  permanent  his  per- 
son, the  changeable  his  condition. 

Person  and  condition  —  self  and  its  definitions  — 
which  we  consider  as  one  and  the  same  in  the  ab- 
solute being,  are  ever  two  in  the  finite.  The  con- 
dition varies  amid  all  the  stability  of  the  person,  the 
person  is  unmoved  through  all  the  variations  of  condi- 
tion. We  pass  from  rest  to  activity,  from  passion  to 
indifference,  from  harmony  to  contradiction,  but  we 
are  still  the  same,  and  whatever  immediately  results 
from  us,  remains.  In  the  absolute  subject  alone,  all 
its  various  modes  consist  with  the  personality,  since 
they  result  from  the  personality.  The  divinity  is  all 
that  it  is,  because  it  is ;  consequently  it  is  all  forever, 
because  it  is  eternal. 

Since  in  man,  as  a  finite  being,  person  and  condi- 
tion are  distinct,  so  neither  can  the  condition  rest  upon 
the  person,  nor  the  person  upon  the  condition.  Sup- 
pose the  last,  and  person  would  become  variable ;  sup- 
pose the  first,  and  condition  would  be  unalterable ; 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


49 


then  in  each  case,  either  the  personality  or  the  lim- 
itation ceases.  We  are,  not  because  we  think,  will, 
feel ;  we  think,  will,  feel,  not  because  we  are.  We 
are,  because  we  are ;  we  feel,  think  and  will,  because 
there  is  something  else  besides  ourselves. 

Person,  then,  must  be  its  own  ground,  since  the 
permanent  cannot  result  from  the  changeable ;  and 
thus  we  should  have,  firstly,  the  idea  of  the  absolute, 
self-founded  Me,  that  is,  freedom.  Condition  must  have 
a  ground  ;  and  since  it  depends  not  upon  Person,  con- 
sequently is  not  absolute,  it  must  result  (from  some- 
thing) ;  and  so  we  should  have,  secondly,  the  condi- 
tional state  of  all  dependent  Me,  or  becoming,  that  is, 
time.  That  time  is  the  condition  of  all  becoming,  is 
an  identical  proposition,  since  it  only  affirms  this,  the 
result  is  the  condition  to  some  result. 

Person,  which  discovers  itself  in  the  eternally  per- 
manent Me,  and  only  in  this,  cannot  become,  cannot 
begin,  in  time,  since  on  the  contrary,  time  must  com- 
mence in  that,  for  what  is  permanent  must  be  the 
ground  of  the  changeable.  Something  must  change, 
if  there  would  be  change  ;  then  this  something  cannot 
itself  constitute  the  change.  When  we  say,  the  rose 
blossoms  and  fades,  we  make  the  rose  the  permanent 
in  this  transformation,  and  bestow  upon  it  a  person,  as 
it  were,  in  which  both  the  above  conditions  are  appar- 
ent. That  man  first  becomes,  is  no  objection,  since 
man  is  not  only  person  generally,  but  person  which 
finds  itself  in  a  definite  condition.  But  every  condi- 
4 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


tion,  every  definite  existence  arises  in  time,  and  so 
then  must  man,  as  a  phenomenon,  have  a  beginning, 
although  the  pure  intelligence  within  him  is  eternal. 
Without  time,  that  is,  without  first  becoming,  he  would 
never  be  a  definite  existence  ;  his  personality  would 
exist,  it  is  true,  potentially,  but  not  in  the  actual. 
The  permanent  Me  becomes  an  appearance  only  in  the 
results  of  its  ideas. 

Then  the  material  of  activity,  or  reality,  which  the 
highest  Intelligence  creates  out  of  himself,  man  must 
first  receive,  and,  indeed,  he  receives  it  by  means  of 
observation,  as  something  sensible  beyond  him  in 
space,  and  as  something  variable  within  him  in  time. 
His  permanent  Me  accompanies  this  variable  substance 
within  him,  and  to  remain  essentially  himself  in  every 
change,  to  turn  all  his  observations  into  experience,  that 
is  into  unity  of  knowledge,  and  to  make  each  of  his 
modes  in  time  precedents  for  all  time,  is  the  prescrip- 
tion of  his  rational  nature.  He  exists,  only  in  a  state 
of  change  or  of  permanence.  Man,  presented  in  his 
perfection,  would  accordingly  be  the  permanent  unity, 
which  remains  eternally  the  same  amid  the  waves  of 
mutation. 

Although  an  infinite  being,  a  divinity,  cannot  become, 
yet  that  tendency  must  be  called  divine,  which  has  for 
its  infinite  task,  to  develop  the  special  tokens  of  di- 
vinity, absolute  promulgation  of  capacity,  (reality  of 
all  that  is  possible)  and  absolute  unity  of  manifestation, 
(necessity  of  all  that  is  real).  Man  indisputably  bears 
a  potential  divinity  in  his  personality ;  the  path  to 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


51 


divinity,  if  one  can  call  that  a  path,  which  never  finds 
its  goal,  is  opened  to  him  in  the  senses. 

His  personality,  considered  for  itself  alone,  and  in- 
dependent of  all  sensible  substance,  is  only  the  dispo- 
sition for  a  possible,  infinite  development ;  and  so  long 
as  he  neither  sees  nor  feels,  he  is  nothing  more  than 
form  and  latent  faculty.  His  sensuous  impressibility, 
considered  for  itself  alone  and  distinct  from  the  self- 
activity  of  the  spirit,  prevails  no  farther  than  to  place 
him,  who  without  it  is  only  form,  in  communication 
with  matter,  but  by  no  means  uniting  him  to  matter. 
So  long  as  he  only  feels,  only  desires  and  acts  from 
mere  desire,  he  is  nothing  more  than  world,  if  we  in- 
clude under  this  name  only  the  formless  contents  of 
time.  It  is  indeed  his  sensation  alone,  which  converts 
his  capacity  into  activity,  but  it  is  only  his  personality, 
which  secures  his  efficiency  to  himself.  Then  in  or- 
der not  to  be  mere  world,  he  must  impart  form  to 
matter  ;  in  order  not  to  be  mere  form,  he  must  give 
actuality  to  his  internal  disposition.  He  realizes  form 
when  he  creates  time,  and  contrasts  the  changeable 
with  the  permanent,  the  manifoldness  of  the  world 
with  the  eternal  unity  of  his  Me  ;  he  gives  a  form  to 
matter,  when  again  he  abolishes  time,  maintains  per- 
manency in  change,  and  subjects  the  manifoldness  of 
the  world  to  the  unity  of  his  Me. 

Hence  result  two  opposing  demands  in  man,  the 
two  fundamental  laws  of  sensuo-rational  nature.  The 
first  insists  upon  absolute  reality  ;  it  would  convert  all 
that  is  purely  formal  into  world,  and  make  all  its  dis- 


52 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


positions  apparent ;  the  second  insists  upon  absolute 
formality  ;  it  would  resolve  everything  that  is  mere 
world  into  itself,  and  bring  harmony  into  all  its  muta- 
tions ;  in  other  words,  it  would  alienate  all  within,  and 
form  all  without.  Both  intentions,  considered  in  their 
complete  fulfilment,  lead  back  to  the  conception  of 
divinity,  from  which  I  started. 


TWELFTH  LETTER. 


We  are  incited  to  the  performance  of  this  twofold 
task  of  bringing  into  reality  the  necessary  in  ourselves, 
and  of  subjecting  the  actual  out  of  ourselves  to  the  law 
of  necessity,  by  two  opposing  powers,  which  we  call 
very  properly,  impulses,  since  they  impel  us  to  realize 
their  object.  The  first  of  these  impulses,  which  I  will 
call  the  sensuous,  results  from  man's  physical  being 
or  from  his  sensuous  nature,  and  is  occupied  in  estab- 
lishing him  within  the  bounds  of  time  and  introduc- 
ing him  to  matter  ;  not  giving  him  matter,  since  for 
that  a  free  activity  of  person  is  appointed,  which  mat- 
ter acknowledges  and  distinguishes  from  the  perma- 
nent itself.  But  matter  means  here  nothing  but  muta- 
tion or  reality,  which  occupies  time ;  consequently 
this  impulse  demands  that  there  should  be  mutation, 
that  time  should  have  contents.  This  condition  of 
time  as  merely  occupied,  is  called  perception,  and 
through  that  alone  the  physical  being  announces  it- 
self. 

Since  everything  which  exists  in  time  is  successive, 
it  follows  that  something  is,  all  else  excluded.  When 
we  catch  the  tone  of  an  instrument,  only  that  single 
one  of  all  the  tones  it  can  possibly  give,  is  actual ;  so 
when  man  perceives  the  present,  the  whole  infinite 


54 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


extent  of  his  possibility  is  restricted  to  that  single  mode 
of  being.  Then  wherever  this  impulse  works  in  ex- 
clusive directions,  there  the  highest  limitation  neces- 
sarily exists  ;  man  in  this  condition  is  nothing  but  a 
simple  quantity,  an  occupied  moment  of  time  —  or 
rather  he  is  not,  since  so  long  as  perception  rules 
him  and  time  carries  him  along,  his  personality  is 
removed.1 

The  dominion  of  this  impulse  stretches  to  the  extent 
of  man's  finiteness,  and  since  all  form  appears  only  in 
a  material,  and  all  that  is  absolute  only  through  limited 
media,  so  in  fact  humanity  depends  upon  the  sensuous 
impulse  at  last  for  its  whole  manifestation.  But,  not- 
withstanding that  alone  rouses  and  unfolds  the  disposi- 
tions of  humanity,  yet  it  is  that  only,  which  makes  its 
consummation  impossible.  It  binds  the  high-soaring 
spirit  to  the  world  of  sense  with  adamantine  chains,  and 
calls  abstraction  from  the  freest  roving  into  the  infinite 
back  to  the  restraints  of  the  present.  Thought,  it  is 
true,  may  for  a  moment  elude  it,  and  a  vigorous  will 

1  For  this  condition  of  self-absence  under  the  dominion  of  percep- 
tion, language  has  the  very  striking  expression —  to  be  beside  one's 
self,  that  is,  to  be  out  of  his  Me.  Notwithstanding  this  form  of  speech 
can  only  be  used  where  perception  amounts  to  actual  engrossment, 
and  this  condition  is  more  perceptible  from  its  duration,  yet  every 
one  is  beside  himself,  so  long  as  he  only  perceives.  To  return  from 
this  condition  to  presence  of  mind,  is  properly  called,  to  come  to  him- 
self, that  is  to  return  to  his  Me,  to  reestablish  his  person.  We  do  not 
say  of  one  who  lies  in  a  swoon,  he  is  beside  himself,  but  he  is  out  of 
himself,  that  is,  he  is  deprived  of  his  Me,  the  former  not  being  in  the 
latter.  Hence  one  who  recovers  from  a  swoon  is  only  with  himself, 
which  may  still  consist  with  his  being  beside  himself. 


JSSTHETIC  CULTURE. 


55 


may  triumphantly  oppose  its  demands ;  but  subjected 
nature  soon  recovers  its  privileges,  to  strive  after  a  re- 
ality of  existence,  a  substance  to  our  various  know- 
ledge, and  an  aim  for  our  activity. 

The  second  of  these  impulses,  which  can  be  called 
the  form-impulse,  results  from  the  absolute  being  of 
man  or  from  his  rational  nature,  and  is  engaged  in 
placing  him  in  freedom,  introducing  harmony  in  the  di- 
versity of  his  manifestation,  and  maintaining  his  person 
in  every  variation  of  condition.  Now  since  the  last  as 
an  absolute  and  indivisible  unity  can  never  be  in  con- 
tradiction with  itself,  since  through  all  eternity  we  are 
ourselves,  then  this  impulse,  which  insists  upon  main- 
taining the  personality,  can  never  demand  any  other 
thing,  than  it  must  demand  through  all  eternity ;  then 
it  decides  forever,  as  it  decides  for  the  present,  and  en- 
joins for  the  present,  what  it  enjoins  forever.  Conse- 
quently it  embraces  the  whole  results  of  time,  that  is  to 
say  —  it  abolishes  time  and  change  —  it  will  have  the 
actual,  necessary  and  eternal,  and  the  eternal  and  ne- 
cessary, actual ;  in  other  words  —  its  aim  is  Truth  and 
Right. 

As  the  first  impulse  only  creates  cases,  the  other  gives 
laws;  laws  for  every  judgment  concerning  cognitions, 
laws  for  every  will  concerning  actions.  Suppose  that 
we  recognize  an  object,  that  we  attribute  an  objective 
validity  to  a  subjective  condition,  or  that  we  act  from 
cognitions,  that  we  make  the  objective  the  determining 
ground  of  our  condition  —  in  either  case  we  remove 
this  condition  from  the  jurisdiction  of  time,  and  con- 


56 


.(ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


cede  to  it  a  reality  for  all  men  and  all  time,  that  is,  uni- 
versality and  necessity.  Feeling  can  only  say  —  that 
is  true  for  this  subject  and  at  this  moment,  and  another 
moment,  another  subject  can  come  to  disprove  the  as- 
sertion of  the  present  perception.  But  when  thought 
once  declares  —  that  is,  it  decides  forever  and  aye,  and 
the  validity  of  its  declaration  is  warranted  by  the  per- 
sonality which  defies  all  change.  Inclination  can  only 
say  —  that  is  well  for  your  individuality  and  your 
present  need,  but  your  individuality  and  present  need 
is  hurried  along  with  the  progress  of  change,  which 
will  make  what  you  earnestly  covet  to-day,  the  object 
of  your  future  aversion.  But  when  the  moral  feeling 
says,  that  shall  be,  it  decides  forever  and  aye  ;  when 
you  recognize  truth,  because  it  is  truth,  and  practise 
justice  because  it  is  justice,  you  have  converted  a  sin- 
gle case  into  a  precedent  for  all  cases,  and  have  lived 
out  one  moment  as  eternity. 

Thus  to  whatever  extent  the  form-impulse  carries 
its  authority,  and  the  pure  object  acts  within  us,  there 
is  the  highest  amplitude  of  being,  there  vanish  all  re- 
straints, there  has  man  elevated  himself  from  a  simple 
quantity,  to  which  the  needy  sense  confined  him,  to 
an  ideal  unity,  embracing  the  whole  realm  of  phe- 
nomena. By  this  operation  we  are  no  more  in  time 
but  time  is  in  us,  with  its  unending  procession.  We 
are  individuals  no  more,  but  a  race  ;  our  spirit  has 
issued  the  decision  for  all  spirits,  our  action  represents 
the  choice  of  all  hearts. 


THIRTEENTH  LETTER. 


At  first  sight  nothing  appears  to  be  more  opposite 
than  the  tendencies  of  these  two  impulses,  one  aiming 
at  change,  the  other  at  immutability.  And  yet  both 
these  instincts  exhaust  the  conception  of  humanity, 
and  a  third  fundamental  impulse,  reconciling  both,  is 
absolutely  an  unsupposable  idea.  Then  how  can  we 
restore  the  unity  of  human  nature,  which  appears  to 
be  completely  destroyed  by  this  primitive  and  radical 
antipathy  ? 

It  is  true,  their  tendencies  conflict,  but,  what  is  wor- 
thy of  remark,  not  in  the  same  objects,  and  things  that 
never  approach,  can  never  interfere.  The  sensuous 
impulse  demands  change,  it  is  true,  but  not  that  it 
should  extend  itself  to  person  and  its  province ;  not 
that  there  should  be  mutation  among  principles.  The 
form-impulse  tends  to  unity  and  permanence,  but  it 
will  not  have  the  condition  fixed  as  well  as  the  per- 
son, it  does  not  desire  an  identity  of  perception.  Thus 
they  are  not  opposed  by  nature,  and  if,  nevertheless, 
they  so  appear,  it  first  happens  through  a  willing  trans- 
gression of  nature,  while  they  misunderstand  them- 
selves, and  wander  from  their  spheres.1     It  is  the 

1  As  soon  as  we  maintain  a  primitive,  and  therefore  necessary 
antagonism  of  both  impulses,  there  is  really  no  other  method  of  pre- 


58 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


office  of  culture,  to  watch  over  this,  and  to  secure  each 
of  these  impulses  within  its  proper  limits,  dispensing 
strict  impartiality  to  both,  and  not  only  maintaining 
the  rational  impulse  against  the  sensuous,  but  also  the 
latter  against  the  former.  Thus  its  business  is  two- 
fold ;  first,  to  preserve  perception  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  freedom  ;  second,  to  secure  the  personality 

serving  the  unity  in  man,  than  by  unconditionally  subordinating  the 
sensuous  to  the  rational  impulse.  But  the  result  will  be  no  har- 
mony, only  uniformity,  and  man  still  remains  forever  divided.  Un- 
doubtedly there  must  be  subordination,  but  it  must  be  mutual :  since 
if  the  limited  can  never  support  the  absolute,  or  freedom  depend 
upon  time,  it  is  equally  certain  that  the  absolute  by  itself  can  never 
support  the  limited,  that  condition  in  time  can  never  depend  upon 
freedom.  Then  both  principles  are  at  once  subordinate  and  coordi- 
nate, that  is,  they  are  in  alternation  ;  without  form  no  matter,  with- 
out matter,  no  form.  (This  idea  of  reciprocity  and  its  whole  import- 
ance, is  found  excellently  defined  in  Fichte's  Basis  of  Collective 
Science,  Leipzig,  1794.)  We  do  not  know,  indeed,  the  mode  of  per- 
son in  the  realm  of  idea,  but  we  certainly  know  that  it  cannot  reveal 
itself  in  the  realm  of  time,  without  having  recourse  to  matter;  then 
in  this  realm,  matter  will  not  only  have  something  determinate 
beneath  the  form,  but  also  beside,  and  independent  of  the  form.  It 
is  just  as  necessary  that  the  reason  should  not  presume  to  determine 
anything  in  the  province  of  feeling,  as  that  feeling  should  decide 
nothing  in  the  province  of  reason.  As  soon  as  we  claim  a  province 
for  each  of  these,  we  exclude  the  other  from  it,  and  place  limits  to 
them,  which  can  only  be  transgressed  to  the  injury  of  both. 

In  a  transcendental  philosophy,  where  everything  depends  upon 
freeing  form  from  substance,  and  preserving  what  is  necessary  pure, 
from  all  that  is  accidental,  it  is  too  often  the  custom,  to  consider 
material  only  as  a  hindrance,  and  to  establish  a  necessary  opposition 
between  the  reason  and  perception,  since  in  this  affair  it  may  be  an 
impediment.  Such  a  representation,  it  is  true,  exists  by  no  means 
in  the  spirit  of  the  Kantian  system,  though  it  may  be  found  in  the 
letter. 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


59 


against  the  power  of  perceptions.  Tt  succeeds  in  the 
former  by  developing  the  feeling,  in  the  latter  by  de- 
veloping the  reason. 

Since  world  is  extension  in  time  and  change,  so  the 
perfection  of  that  faculty  which  unites  man  with  the 
world,  must  be  the  greatest  possible  mutability  and 
extensiveness.  Since  person  is  that  which  continues 
through  change,  so  the  greatest  possible  self-depend- 
ence and  intensity  must  constitute  the  perfection  of 
that  faculty,  which  is  in  opposition  to  mutation.  The 
more  multiform  and  restless  the  susceptibility,  and  the 
more  surfaces  it  presents  to  the  actual,  so  much  the 
more  world  does  man  apprehend,  so  many  more  dispo- 
sitions does  he  unfold  in  himself ;  the  more  power  and 
depth  of  personality,  and  the  more  freedom  of  reason 
he  gains,  so  much  the  more  world  does  man  compre- 
hend, so  much  more  form  does  he  create  out  of  him- 
self. Thus  his  culture  will  consist  in  this  ;  first,  to 
provide  the  susceptive  faculty  with  numerous  points  of 
contact  with  the  world,  and  to  stretch  passivity  oh  the* 
part  of  feeling  to  its  highest  point ;  second,  to  secure 
to  the  permanent  faculty  the  greatest  possible  inde- 
pendence of  the  susceptive,  and  to  stretch  activity  on 
the  part  of  the  reason  to  its  highest  point.  When 
both  qualities  unite,  then  man  will  join  the  utmost 
self-dependence  and  freedom  with  the  greatest  fulness 
of  being,  and,  instead  of  being  merged  in  the  world, 
will  rather  attract  to  himself  its  whole  infinity  of 
modes,  and  subject  them  to  the  unity  of  his  reason. 

Man  can  invert  this  relation,  and  consequently  fail 


60 


2ESTIIETIC  CULTURE. 


of  his  destination  in  a  twofold  manner.  He  can  be- 
stow the  intensity  which  the  active  power  requires 
upon  the  passive,  anticipate  the  subjective  by  the  ob- 
jective impulse,  and  make  the  susceptive  faculty  the 
determinative.  He  can  confer  the  extensiveness  which 
is  due  to  the  passive  power,  upon  the  active,  anticipate 
the  objective  impulse  by  the  subjective,  and  substitute 
the  determinative  for  the  susceptive  faculty.  In  the 
first  case  he  cannot  be  himself,  nor  in  the  second  any- 
thing else ;  consequently  in  both  cases  neither,  or  a 
nullity.1 

1  The  injurious  influence  of  an  overweening  sensuousness  upon  our 
thoughts  and  actions,  is  evident  to  every  one ;  but  the  pernicious 
effects  of  an  overweening  rationality  upon  our  knowledge  and  con- 
duct, although  ever  so  important  and  of  frequent  occurrence,  is  not 
so  evident.  Permit  me  here,  to  allude  to  only  two,  from  the  great 
crowd  of  pertinent  cases,  which  may  illustrate  the  danger  of  reflec- 
tion and  volition  anticipating  intuition  and  perception. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  reasons  why  our  physical  sciences  ad- 
vance so  slowly,  is  evidently  the  universal  and  almost  insurmount- 
able propensity  to  teleological  judgments,  (final  causes)  by  which, 
as  soon  as  they  are  elementally  used,  the  susceptive  is  displaced  by 
the  determinative  faculty.  However  emphatically  and  variously 
nature  may  affect  our  organs,  all  her  manil'oldness  is  lost  upon  us, 
because  we  seek  nothing  in  her,  but  what  we  have  placed  in  her, 
because  we  do  not  permit  her  to  affect  us  inwardly  from  without, 
but  rather  strive  towards  her  from  tcilhin,  with  an  impatient  and 
froward  reason.  And  should  any  one  appear,  who  approaches  her 
with  calm,  pure  and  open  senses,  and  for  that  reason  meets  with  a 
multitude  of  phenomena,  which,  in  our  system  of  anticipation  we 
have  overlooked,  we  are  highly  astonished  that  so  many  eyes  should 
have  noticed  nothing  in  such  a  clear  daylight.  This  eager  struggle 
after  harmony,  before  we  have  collected  the  single  tones  which 
should  form  it,  this  violent  usurpation  of  reflection  in  a  province, 
where  all  its  authority  must  be  conditional,  is  the  cause  of  the  steril- 


Esthetic  culture. 


61 


Suppose  the  sensuous  impulse  becomes  determina- 
tive, sense  the  lawgiver,  and  person  subject  to  the 
world,  it  would  cease  to  be  objective  in  the  same  pro- 
portion as  it  becomes  mere  force.  As  soon  as  man  is 
only  a  content  of  time,  he  is  no  longer,  and  conse- 

ity  of  so  many  thinking  heads  for  the  best  of  science  ;  and  it  is  hard 
to  say,  whether  sensuousness  which  assumes  no  form,  or  reason 
which  waits  for  no  contents,  has  most  impeded  the  extension  of  our 
knowledge. 

It  is  just  as  hard  to  determine  whether  our  practical  philanthropy 
is  more  chilled  and  disturbed  by  the  violence  of  our  desires,  or  by 
the  rigidity  of  our  principles,  more  by  the  egoism  of  our  senses,  or 
by  the  egoism  of  our  reason.  To  make  ourselves  sympathizing,  be- 
nevolent, active  men,  feeling  and  character  must  be  united,  just  as 
susceptibility  of  sense  must  coincide  with  energy  of  intellect,  to  'jive 
us  experience.  How  can  we  be  just,  kind  and  humane  towards  oth- 
ers, with  ever  so  praiseworthy  maxims  of  conduct,  if  we  want  the 
ability,  truly  and  really  to  comprehend  foreign  natures,  to  appro- 
priate foreign  situations,  and  to  make  foreign  feelings  our  own  ? 
But  this  ability  will  be  repressed,  as  well  in  the  education  we  re- 
ceive as  in  that  we  give  to  ourselves,  according  as  we  seek  to  break 
the  force  of  desires,  and  establish  the  character  upon  principles  As 
it  is  with  difficulty  that  we  remain  firm  to  our  principles  amid  the 
ardor  of  feelings,  we  prefer  the  more  convenient  medium  of  making 
the  character  more  secure  by  blunting  the  feelings  ;  for  indeed  it  is 
infinitely  easier  to  enjoy  tranquillity  before  a  disarmed  rival,  than  to 
govern  an  impetuous  and  active  foe.  In  this  operation,  then,  con- 
sists for  the  most  part,  that  which  we  call  forming-  a  man  ;  and  truly 
in  the  best  sense  of  the  phrase,  when  it  signifies  a  cultivation  of  the 
inner,  and  not  merely  of  the  outer  man.  A  man  so  formed  will,  it 
is  evident,  be  secured  from  being  rude  nature,  and  from  appearing  as 
such  ;  but  at  the  same  time  his  principles  will  arm  him  against 
every  perception  of  nature,  and  humanity  from  without  will  reach 
him  just  as  little  as  humanity  from  within. 

A  very  pernicious  abuse  is  made  of  the  ideal  of  perfection,  by  ap- 
plying it  with  all  its  severity,  in  judging  other  men,  and  in  cases 


62 


jESTHETIC  culture. 


quently  has  no  contents.  His  condition  too,  is  removed 
with  his  personality,  since  both  are  in  reciprocity  — 
since  the  mutable  demands  a  permanent,  and  limited 
reality  an  infinite.  Suppose  the  form-impulse  becomes 
susceptive,  that  is,  if  reflection  anticipates  perception, 
and  person  substitutes  itself  for  the  world,  it  would 
cease  to  be  subjective  and  a  self-dependent  power  in 
proportion  as  it  usurped  the  place  of  the  objective, 
since  the  permanent  demands  the  mutable,  and  abso- 
lute reality  limits  to  its  development.  As  soon  as  man 
is  only  form,  he  has  no  form  ;  and  with  his  condition 
his  person  is  consequently  removed.  In  a  word,  reality 
is  without  him  and  he  is  susceptible  only  so  far  as  he 
is  self-dependent ;  and  only  so  far  as  he  is  susceptible, 
is  reality  within  him,  is  he  a  thinking  power. 

Thus  both  impulses  require  limitations,  and,  so  far 
as  they  are  considered  as  energies,  abatement ;  the 
one,  that  it  may  not  intrude  within  the  province  of 
legislation,  the  other,  that  it  may  not  intrude  into  the 
province  of  perception.  This  abatement  of  the  sensu- 
ous instinct  need  by  no  means  be  the  effect  of  physical 

where  we  should  lahor  in  their  behalf.  The  former  leads  to  fanati- 
cism, the  latter  to  coldness  and  austerity.  In  truth,  one  would  make 
his  social  obligations  uncommonly  light,  by  substituting  in  thought 
the  ideal  man,  who  probably  can  help  himself,  for  the  actual  man, 
who  demands  our  aid.  Strictness  to  oneself  joined  with  tender- 
ness towards  others,  forms  the  truly  excellent  character.  But  for 
the  most  part,  the  man  who  is  mild  towards  others,  will  be  so  to- 
wards himself,  and  he  who  is  severe  towards  himself  will  be  the 
same  towards  others  ;  a  character  which  is  tender  towards  itself  and 
severe  towards  others,  is  of  all  the  most  contemptible. 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


63 


inability  and  a  dulness  of  the  perceptions,  which  every- 
where only  deserves  contempt ;  it  must  be  an  operation 
of  freedom  and  activity  of  person,  which  tempers  the 
sensuous  by  its  moral  intensity,  and  by  controlling  im- 
pressions, lessens  its  depth,  in  order  to  give  it  surface. 
The  character  must  set  bounds  to  the  temperament, 
since  the  sense  need  to  lose  only  in  spirit.  Nor  need  this 
abatement  of  the  form-impulse  be  the  effect  of  a  spirit- 
ual inability  and  a  feebleness  of  thought  or  volition, 
which  would  debase  humanity.  Fulness  of  percep- 
tions must  be  its  laudable  source  ;  sensuousness  must 
triumphantly  maintain  its  province,  and  resist  the  vio- 
lence which  spirit  would  fain  inflict  upon  it  by  its 
encroaching  activity.  In  a  word,  personality  must 
keep  the  subjective  impulse,  susceptiveness  or  nature 
the  objective  impulse,  each  within  its  proper  limits 


FOURTEENTH  LETTER. 


We  have  now  attained  the  idea  of  such  a  reciprocity 
between  both  impulses,  where  the  action  of  the  one  at 
the  same  time  confirms  and  confines  the  action  of  the 
other,  and  where  each  one  reaches  singly  its  highest 
development  only  according  to  the  energy  of  the 
other. 

It  is  true,  this  reciprocity  of  both  impulses  is  but  a 
task  of  the  reason,  which  man  can  only  fully  accomplish 
in  the  consummation  of  his  being.  It  is  in  the  most 
peculiar  sense  of  the  word,  the  idea  of  his  humanity 
consequently  something  infinite,  to  which  in  the  course 
of  time  he  will  continually  approximate,  but  never 
attain.  "  He  should  not  strive  fcr  form  at  the  expense 
of  his  reality,  nor  for  reality  at  the  expense  of  form  ; 
he  should  rather  seek  the  absolute  by  a  definite  exist- 
ence, and  a  definite  through  an  infinite  existence.  He 
ought  to  set  himself  over  against  a  world,  since  he  is 
person,  and  should  be  person,  and  since  a  world  is  his 
opposite.  He  ought  to  feel,  since  he  has  conscious- 
ness, and  he  should  be  conscious,  since  he  feels."  He 
can  never  learn  that  he  is  actually  commensurate  with 
this  idea,  therefore  in  the  full  signification  of  the  word, 
a  man,  so  long  as  he  excludes  either  one  of  these  two 
impulses,  or  only  satisfies  them  alternately  ;  for  so  long 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


65 


as  he  only  feels,  his  person  or  his  absolute  existence 
remains  to  him  a  mystery,  and  so  does  his  condition  or 
his  existence  in  time,  so  long  as  he  only  thinks.  But 
should  cases  occur  where  he  effected  at  the  same 
time  this  twofold  experience,  being  at  the  same  time 
conscious  of  his  freedom  and  sensible  of  his  being,  at 
the  same  time  regarding  himself  as  matter  and  as 
spirit  —  he  would  have  in  these  cases,  and  positively 
only  in  these,  a  complete  intuition  of  his  humanity, 
and  the  object  which  provided  him  with  this  intuition, 
would  be  to  him  as  a  symbol  of  his  perfected  destiny, 
consequently  (since  this  can  only  be  attained  in  infi- 
nite time)  a  forth-setting  of  the  Infinite. 

Suppose  that  cases  of  this  kind  could  actually  oc- 
cur, they  would  awake  in  him  a  new  impulse,  which, 
from  the  fact  that  the  other  two  operate  in  unison, 
would  be  opposed  to  either  one  of  them,  considered 
singly,  and  would  properly  amount  to  a  new  impulse. 
The  sensuous  impulse  will  have  mutation,  that  time 
may  have  contents ;  the  form-impulse  will  have  time 
abolished,  that  there  may  be  no  mutation.  Then  that 
impulse,  in  which  both  act  united,  (I  may  be  allowed 
to  call  it  Play 'impulse,  till  I  have  justified  the  appella- 
tion,) the  play-impulse,  will  aim  at  abolishing  time  in 
time  (or  actual  mode)  and  at  reconciling  Becoming 
with  absolute  existence,  mutation  with  identity. 

The  sensuous  impulse  will  become  defined,  it  will 
receive  its  object ;  the  form-impulse  will  itself  define, 
it  will  produce  its  object.  Then  the  play-impulse  will 
5 


66  AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 

endeavor  so  to  receive,  as  itself  would  have  produced, 
and  so  to  produce,  as  sense  labors  to  receive. 

The  sensuous  impulse  excludes  from  its  subject  all 
self-activity  and  freedom,  the  form-impulse  excludes 
from  its  subject  all  dependence,  all  passivity.  But  ex- 
clusion of  freedom  is  physical,  exclusion  of  passivity 
is  moral,  necessity.  Then  both  impulses  compel  the 
mind,  the  former  by  the  laws  of  nature,  the  latter  by 
the  laws  of  reason.  The  play-impulse,  then,  as  that 
in  which  both  act  united,  will  at  the  same  time  mo- 
rally and  physically  compel  the  mind  ;  as  it  abolishes 
all  accident,  it  will  also  abolish  compulsion,  and  place 
man,  both  morally  and  physically,  in  freedom.  When 
we  embrace  with  passion  any  one,  who  deserves  our 
contempt,  we  feel  painfully  the  compulsion  of  nature. 
When  we  are  hostilely  disposed  towards  another,  who 
extorts  our  esteem,  we  feel  painfully  the  compulsion  of 
reason.  But  as  soon  as  our  inclination  coincides  with 
our  esteem,  both  the  constraint  of  nature  and  of  reason 
vanish,  and  we  begin  to  love  him  —  that  is,  at  the  same 
time  to  play  with  our  inclination  and  our  esteem. 

While  farther  the  sensuous  impulse  compels  us 
physically,  and  the  form-impulse  morally,  so  the  former 
leaves  our  formal,  the  latter  our  material  disposition 
contingent  ;  that  is,  it  is  contingent,  whether  our  hap- 
piness shall  agree  with  our  perfection,  or  the  latter 
with  the  former.  Then  the  play-impulse,  in  which 
both  act  united,  will  at  the  same  time  make  our  formal 
and  our  material  disposition,  our  perfection  and  our 
happiness,  contingent ;  then  since  it  makes  both  con- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


67 


tingent,  and  since  contingency  also  vanishes  with  ne- 
cessity, it  will  again  abolish  the  contingency  in  both, 
consequently  bringing  form  into  matter,  and  reality 
into  form.  In  the  same  degree  that  it  deprives  the 
feelings  and  affections  of  their  dynamical  influence,  it 
will  harmonize  them  with  the  ideas  of  reason ;  and  in 
the  same  degree  that  it  deprives  the  laws  of  reason  of 
their  moral  compulsion,  it  will  reconcile  them  with  the 
interest  of  sense. 


FIFTEENTH  LETTER, 


I  approach  still  nearer  the  goal,  towards  which  I 
lead  you  by  a  path  that  has  little  to  interest.  Should 
you  feel  inclined  to  follow  me  a  few  steps  further,  a 
much  wider  field  of  view  will  open  itself,  and  a  pleas- 
anter  prospect  will  perhaps  reward  the  toil  of  the 
journey. 

The  object  of  the  sensuous  impulse,  expressed  in  a 
general  idea,  is  called  life,  in  its  widest  signification ; 
an  idea  implying  all  material  existence,  and  all  that  is 
immediately  present  to  the  sense.  The  object  of  the 
form-impulse,  expressed  generally,  is  called  shape,  as 
well  in  a  free  as  literal  signification  ;  an  idea  which 
includes  all  formal  qualities  of  things,  and  all  their 
relations  to  reflection.  The  object  of  the  play-im- 
pulse, expressed  in  a  general  proposition,  can  then  be 
called  living  shape,  an  idea  which  serves  to  indicate 
all  aesthetic  qualities  of  phenomena,  and  in  a  word, 
what  in  its  widest  signification  we  call  Beauty. 

According  to  this  explanation,  if  it  should  be  one, 
Beauty  will  neither  be  extended  over  the  whole  pro- 
vince of  life,  nor  only  confined  to  that  province.  A 
block  of  marble,  although  it  is  inert  and  lifeless,  can 
no  less  on  that  account  become  a  living  shape  be- 
neath the  architect  and  sculptor ;  a  man,  although  he 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


69 


lives  and  has  shape,  is  therefore  for  a  long  while  no 
living  shape.  That  requires  that  his  shape  should  be 
life,  and  his  life,  shape.  So  long  as  we  only  think  of 
his  shape,  it  is  lifeless,  mere  abstraction  ;  so  long  as 
we  only  perceive  his  life,  it  is  shapeless,  mere  impres- 
sion. He  is  a  living  shape,  only  when  his  form  lives 
in  our  perception,  and  his  life  shapes  itself  in  our  un- 
derstanding, and  this  will  always  be  the  case,  where  we 
decide  that  he  is  beautiful. 

But  because  we  know  how  to  declare  the  elements 
which  produce  Beauty  by  their  union,  their  genesis  is 
by  no  means  yet  explained  ;  for  it  would  be  requisite 
to  that  end,  that  we  should  comprehend  that  union 
itself,  which,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  all  alterna- 
tions between  the  finite  and  infinite,  remains  inscruta- 
ble. The  reason  makes  the  demand  on  transcen- 
dental grounds ;  there  ought  to  be  a  partnership  between 
the  objective  and  subjective  impulses,  that  is,  a  play- 
impulse;  since  only  the  unity  of  reality  with  form,  of 
accident  with  necessity,  of  passivity  with  freedom, 
fulfils  the  conception  of  humanity.  The  reason  must 
make  this  demand,  since,  according  to  its  nature,  it 
strives  for  perfection  and  for  the  removal  of  all  limits, 
but  human  nature  leaves  unsatisfied  every  exclusive 
activity  of  either  impulse,  and  settles  a  limit  in  itself. 
Accordingly,  so  soon  as  the  reason  pronounces  the 
decision,  there  shall  exist  a  humanity,  —  it  has  thereby 
established  the  law,  —  there  shall  be  Beauty.  Expe- 
rience can  declare  to  us  if  Beauty  exists,  and  we 
shall  know  it,  as  soon  as  we  are  taught  whether  a 


70 


iESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


humanity  exists.  But  neither  reason  nor  experience 
can  teach  us  how  Beauty  can  exist,  or  how  a  humanity 
is  possible. 

Man,  we  know,  is  neither  exclusively  matter,  nor 
exclusively  spirit.  Beauty,  then,  as  consummation 
of  his  humanity,  can  neither  be  exclusively  mere  life, 
as  has  been  maintained  by  ingenious  observers,  who  ad- 
hered too  scrupulously  to  the  testimony  of  experience, 
—  a  conclusion  to  which  the  taste  of  the  age  would 
fain  compel  them  ;  nor  ca^i  it  be  exclusively  mere 
shape,  as  has  been  decided  by  speculative  philoso- 
phers, who  removed  themselves  too  far  from  expe- 
rience, and  by  philosophizing  artists,  who  in  their 
interpretation  of  it  were  too  much  influenced  by  the 
requirement  of  art  ;  1  it  is  the  common  object  of 
both  impulses,  that  is,  of  the  play-impulse.  This 
name  is  fully  justified  by  the  use  of  language,  which 
is  wont  to  signify  by  the  word  play  (Spiel),  all  that 
is  contingent  neither  subjectively  or  objectively,  and 
yet  neither  externally  nor  internally  constrained.  As 
the  mind,  through  intuition  of  the  beautiful,  finds 
itself  in  a  happy  medium  between  law  and  need,  so 

1  Burke,  in  his  philosophical  inquiries  into  the  origin  of  our  ideas 
of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,  makes  beauty  to  consist  in  mere  life. 
Every  adherent  of  the  dogmatic  system,  who  has  ever  made 
known  his  belief  on  this  subject,  makes  it  to  consist,  as  far  as  I 
know,  in  mere  shape  ;  and,  among  other  artists,  Baphael  Mengs,  in 
his  Thoughts  on  Taste  in  Painting.  Thus  the  critical  philosophy 
has  opened  the  way  in  this  department,  as  well  as  in  every  other, 
to  the  conduct  of  empiricism  back  to  principles,  and  speculation  to 
experience. 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


71 


for  the  reason  that  it  shares  itself  between  both,  is 
the  constraint  of  both  removed.  In  its  demands  upon 
the  subjective,  as  upon  the  objective  impulse,^it  is 
serious,  since  the  one,  by  perception,  is  related  to 
reality,  the  other  to  the  necessity  of  things  :  since  the 
first  is  directed,  through  action,  to  the  maintenance  of 
life,  the  second  to  the  support  of  dignity  —  thus  both 
of  them  to  truth  and  perfection.  But  according  as 
dignity  blends  with  life,  the  latter  becomes  more  indif- 
ferent, and  duty  compels  no  longer  when  inclination 
attracts  :  in  like  manner  the  mind  receives  the  reality 
of  things,  the  material  truth,  calmly  and  freely,  as 
soon  as  the  latter  finds  the  formal  truth,  the  law  of 
necessity ;  and  it  feels  itself  no  longer  overtasked  by 
abstraction,  as  soon  as  it  can  accompany  direct  intu- 
ition. In  a  word,  when  the  actual  comes  into  com- 
munication with  ideas,  it  loses  its  seriousness,  since 
it  becomes  little,  and  when  the  necessary  coincides 
with  perception,  it  also  puts  away  the  same,  since  it 
becomes  light  (leicht). 

But  you  may  have  been  tempted  long  ago  to  make 
the  objection,  whether  Beauty  is  not  debased,  by  mak- 
ing it  consist  in  mere  play,  and  whether  those  friv- 
olous objects  which  hitherto  have  been  in  possession 
of  this  word,  are  not  equally  exalted  ?  Does  it  not 
contradict  the  rational  conception  and  the  dignity  of 
Beauty,  if,  while  it  is  considered  as  an  instrument  of 
culture,  it  is  restricted  to  a  mere  play  —  and  does  it  not 
contradict  our  experimental  ideas  of  play,  which  may 
exist  with  the  exclusion  of  all  taste,  to  confine  it 
merely  to  Beauty  1 


72 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


But  what  is  the  meaning  of  pure  play,  since  we 
know  that  in  every  condition  of  man  it  is  play,  and 
,  only. play,  that  makes  him  complete  and  unfolds  at 
once  his  twofold  nature  ?  What  you  call  restriction, 
according  to  your  idea  of  the  case,  I  call  extension) 
according  to  mine,  which  I  have  established  by  proof. 
Then  I  would  rather  say  exactly  the  reverse  —  man 
is  only  serious  with  the  agreeable,  the  good,  the  per- 
fect ;  but  with  Beauty  he  plays.  Certainly  we  need 
not  here  call  to  mind  the  sports  which  are  in  vogue  in 
actual  life,  and  which  commonly  are  directed  only  to 
very  material  objects  ;  but  in  vain,  too,  should  we  seek 
in  actual  life  for  the  Beauty,  which  is  our  present 
theme.  Actually  existing  Beauty  is  worthy  of  an  ac- 
tually existing  play-impulse ;  but  through  the  ideal  of 
Beauty,  which  the  reason  exhibits,  an  ideal  of  the  play- 
impulse  is  also  manifested,  which  man  should  have  be- 
fore his  eyes  in  all  his  sports. 

We  should  never  err,  if  we  sought  a  man's  ideal  of 
Beauty  in  the  same  direction  in  which  he  satisfies  his 
play-impulse.  If  the  Greeks  were  amused  by  the  blood- 
less strife  of  strength,  fleetness,  agility,  and  the 
nobler  contest  of  talent,  at  the  Olympic  games,  and 
if  the  Romans  enjoyed  the  death-struggle  of  a 
conquered  gladiator  or  of  his  Lybian  rival,  we  can 
comprehend,  from  this  single  trait,  why  we  must  seek 
the  ideal  shapes  of  a  Venus,  a  Juno,  an  Apollo,  not 
in  Rome, but  in  Greece.1    But  now  the  reason  speaks; 

1  To  confine  ourselves  to  modern  times,  let  us  compare  together 
the  races  in  London,  the  bull-fights  in  Madrid,  the  former  specta- 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


73 


the  Fair  shall  not  be  mere  life  and  mere  shape,  but 
living  shape,  that  is,  Beauty  ;  at  the  same  time,  it 
dictates  to  man  the  twofold  law  of  absolute  formal- 
ity and  absolute  reality.  Consequently  it  decides,  that 
man  shall  only  play  with  Beauty,  and  shall  play  only 
with  Beauty. 

Then  to  sum  up  all  briefly,  man  only  plays,  when, 
in  the  full  signification  of  the  word,  he  is  a  man,  and 
he  is  only  entirely  a  man  when  he  plays.  This  prin- 
ciple, which  at  this  moment  perhaps  appears  paradox- 
ical, will  contain  a  great  and  deep  meaning,  when 
we  have  advanced  so  far  as  to  apply  it  to  the  twofold 
seriousness  of  duty  and  destiny ;  it  will  uphold,  I  as- 
sure you,  the  whole  fabric  of  aesthetic  art,  and  of  the 
yet  difficult  art  of  life.  But  this  principle  is  only 
startling  in  science  ;  it  long  ago  lived  and  acted  in  the 
art  and  the  feeling  of  the  Greeks,  as  their  most  distin- 
guished master  ;  but  they  transplanted  to  Olympus 
what  should  have  flourished  upon  earth.  Guided  by 
truth  itself,  they  caused  both  the  seriousness  and  the 
toil,  which  furrow  the  cheeks  of  mortals,  and  the  vain 
pleasure  which  smoothes  the  vacant  countenance,  to 
disappear  from  the  forehead  of  the  celestials,  —  they 
freed  the  ever-happy  from  the  fetters  of  all  motive,  all 

cles  in  Paris,  the  gondola  contests  at  Venice,  the  baiting  matches 
at  Vienna,  and  the  gay,  attractive  life  of  the  Corso  at  Rome,  and 
it  will  not  he  difficult  to  portray  the  different  shades  of  taste  of  these 
various  nations.  In  the  mean  time,  far  less  uniformity  is  manifest 
in  the  common  sports  of  these  different  countries,  than  among  the 
sports  of  the  more  polished  classes  in  the  same  countries,  for  which 
we  can  easily  account. 


74 


iESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


duty,  all  care,  —  and  made  indolence  and  indifference 
the  enviable  lot  of  divinity;  a  merely  human  name 
for  the  freest  and  noblest  existence.  In  their  higher 
conception  of  necessity,  which  embraced  both  worlds, 
both  the  material  constraint  of  natural,  as  well  as  the 
spiritual  constraint  of  moral,  laws,  was  merged ;  and 
true  freedom  was  first  educed  from  the  unity  of  both 
these  necessities.  Animated  by  this  spirit,  they  erased 
from  the  lineaments  of  their  ideal  all  traces  of  will, 
together  with  inclination,  or  rather  they  made  both 
unrecognizable,  since  they  knew  how  to  ally  both  in 
the  closest  union.  It  is  neither  grace,  nor  is  it  dig- 
nity, that  speaks  to  us  from  the  noble  countenance  of 
a  Juno  Ludovisi  ;  it  is  neither,  because  it  is,  at  the 
same  time,  both.  While  the  feminine  deity  solicits 
our  adoration,  the  godlike  woman  inflames  our  love; 
but  while  we  wholly  resign  ourselves  to  the  heavenly 
graciousness,  the  heavenly  self-sufficiency  repels  us. 
The  whole  shape  rests  and  dwells  within  itself,  a  per- 
fected creation  —  as  if  it  were  beyond  all  space,  self- 
sustained,  uncontradicted ;  there  is  no  power,  strug- 
gling with  adverse  powers  —  no  weak  side,  where 
finiteness  could  make  invasion.  Irresistibly  seized 
and  attracted  by  the  graciousness,  and  repelled  by  the 
self-sufficiency,  we  find  ourselves  at  the  same  time  in 
a  condition  of  the  highest  peace  and  the  highest  emo- 
tion, and  there  results  that  wonderful  feeling,  for 
which  the  intellect  has  no  conception,  and  language 
no  name. 


SIXTEENTH  LETTER. 


We  have  seen  Beauty  resulting  from  the  reciprocity 
of  two  opposite  impulses,  and  from  the  union  of  two 
opposite  principles  ;  then  we  must  seek  its  highest 
ideal  in  the  most  perfect  possible  alliance  and  equi- 
poise of  reality  and  form.  But  this  only  exists  as  an 
idea,  which  can  never  be  fully  realized  in  the  actual, 
where  a  preponderance  of  one  element  over  the  other 
will  always  remain  ;  and  the  utmost  to  be  gained  in 
experience  will  consist  in  an  oscillation  between  two 
principles,  now  reality  being  superior,  and  now  form. 
Then  Beauty  in  the  ideal  is  always  only  indivisible 
and  single,  since  it  can  give  only  a  single  equipoise : 
on  the  contrary,  Beauty  in  actual  life  will  always  be 
twofold,  since  the  equipoise  can  be  overcome  in  a 
twofold  manner,  by  oscillation  to  this  side  and  to 
that. 

I  observed  in  one  of  the  foregoing  letters,  and  it 
follows  necessarily  from  the  connection  of  the  pre- 
ceding one,  that  we  should  expect  from  Beauty  at  the 
same  time  a  relaxing  and  an  intensive  action ;  the 
former,  in  order  to  preserve  both  the  subjective  and 
the  objective  impulses  in  their  limits,  —  the  latter,  in 
order  to  maintain  both  in  their  power.  But  both 
these  modes  of  action  of  Beauty  should,  according  to 
the  idea,  be  actually  only  a  single  one.    It  should  re- 


76 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


lax,  for  the  reason  that  it  braces  equally  both  natures 

—  and  it  should  brace,  since  it  equally  relaxes  both 
natures.  This  already  follows  from  the  idea  of  a  re- 
ciprocity, by  whose  means  both  parts,  at  the  same 
time,  necessarily  qualify  and  are  qualified  by  each 
other,  and  whose  purest  product  is  Beauty.  But  ex- 
perience affords  us  no  example  of  such  a  perfect 
reciprocity ;  for  here,  more  or  less,  the  overpoise  will 
always  create  a  deficiency,  and  the  deficiency  an  over- 
poise. So  that  whatever  in  the  ideal  of  Beauty,  only 
as  represented,  is  becoming  different,  exists  as  an  ac- 
tual difference  in  the  Beauty  of  experience.  The 
ideal  Beauty,  although  indivisible  and  single,  manifests 
in  a  different  relation  both  a  reductive  and  energetical 
quality  ;  in  experience  it  gives  a  reductive  and  ener- 
getical Beauty.  So  it  is,  and  so  it  will  be,  in  all  the 
cases  where  the  absolute  is  transferred  to  the  limits  of 
time,  and  ideas  of  the  reason  are  to  become  realized 
in  humanity.  Thus  the  reflecting  man  imagines  vir- 
tue, truth,  felicity ;  but  the  acting  man  will  practise 
only  virtues,  comprehend  only  truths,  enjoy  only 
happy  clays.    To  lead  the  latter  back  into  the  former, 

—  to  substitute  morality  for  morals,  felicity  for  pros- 
perity, knowledge  for  information,  is  the  business  of 
physical  and  moral  culture  ;  out  of  beauties  to  educe 
Beauty,  is  the  problem  of  aesthetic  culture. 

As  little  can  energetical  Beauty  preserve  man  from 
a  certain  residue  of  rudeness  and  austerity,  as  the  re- 
ductive protects  him  from  a  certain  degree  of  effemi- 
nacy and  enervation.     As  the  tendency  of  the  first  is 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


77 


to  strengthen  the  disposition,  both  physically  and  mo- 
rally, and  increase  its  elasticity,  it  too  easily  happens, 
that  the  obstacles  of  temperament  and  character  di- 
minish the  sensibility  for  impressions,  that  the  finer 
humanity  meets  with  a  subjection  that  should  befall 
rude  nature  alone,  and  that  rude  nature  receives  an 
accession  of  power,  that  only  ought  to  avail  the  free 
Person  ;  hence  we  find  in  the  periods  of  power  and 
fulness,  true  greatness  of  representation  joined  with 
the  gigantesque  and  fantastical,  and  elevation  of  sen- 
timent with  the  most  fearful  outbursts  of  passion ; 
hence,  too,  we  find  nature,  in  the  periods  of  principle 
and  form,  as  often  oppressed  as  ruled,  as  often  out- 
raged as  surpassed.  And  as  the  tendency  of  the 
reductive  Beauty  is,  to  relax  the  disposition  both  mo- 
rally and  physically,  it  happens  as  easily,  that  energy 
of  feeling  is  stifled  with  violence  of  desire,  and  that 
the  character  shares  a  loss  of  power  which  should 
befall  only  the  passions ;  hence  we  observe  in  the  so- 
called  refined  periods,  that  softness  frequently  degen- 
erates into  effeminacy,  plainness  into  shallowness, 
correctness  into  emptiness,  liberality  into  caprice, 
lightness  into  frivolity,  calmness  into  apathy;  the  most 
despicable  caricature  trenching  close  upon  the  noblest 
humanity.  Then  reductive  Beauty  is  essential  for 
man,  under  the  constraint  either  of  matter  or  of  form; 
since  he  is  long  affected  by  greatness  and  power,  before 
he  begins  to  appreciate  harmony  and  grace.  Ener- 
getical Beauty  is  essential  for  man,  in  the  indulgence 
of  taste  ;  since  in  a  state  of  refinement  he  is  too  prone 


78 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


to  neglect  a  power  which  he  brought  off  from  a  state 
of  rudeness. 

And  now  I  believe  that  that  contradiction  is  ex- 
plained and  answered,  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
meet  with  in  the  opinions  of  men  concerning  the 
influence  of  Beauty,  and  in  their  estimation  of  aesthetic 
culture.  This  contradiction  is  explained,  when  we 
remember  that  beauty  is  twofold  in  experience,  and 
that  both  parties  predicate  concerning  the  whole 
genus,  what  each  can  only  prove  concerning  a  particular 
kind.  And  this  contradiction  is  removed,  when  we 
distinguish  the  twofold  exigency  of  humanity,  to 
which  that  twofold  Beauty  corresponds.  Then  both 
parties  will  probably  be  in  the  right,  if  they  only  first 
settle  with  each  other  what  kind  of  beauty  and  what 
form  of  humanity  they  have  in  their  thoughts. 

In  the  progress  of  my  inquiries,  I  shall  pursue  the 
same  path  that  nature,  in  an  aesthetic  respect,  takes 
with  men,  and  shall  rise  from  the  species  of  Beauty 
to  the  idea  of  the  genus  itself.  I  shall  examine  the 
effects  of  reductive  Beauty  upon  intended  man,  (in- 
tentus  —  angespannten)  and  of  energetical  Beauty  upon 
the  opposite,  in  order,  finally,  to  dissolve  both  op- 
posing modes  of  Beauty  into  the  unity  of  the  ideal 
Beauty,  just  as  the  two  opposite  forms  of  humanity 
disappear  in  the  unity  of  the  ideal  man. 


SEVENTEENTH  LETTER. 


So  long  as  we  only  deduced  generally  the  universal 
idea  of  Beauty  from  the  conception  of  human  nature, 
we  needed  to  impute  no  other  limits  to  the  latter,  than 
are  directly  established  in  its  constitution,  and  are 
inseparable  from  the  idea  of  finiteness.  Unconcerned 
about  the  accidental  restrictions  which  it  might  sustain 
in  actual  development,  we  drew  our  conception  of  it 
directly  from  the  reason,  as  the  source  of  all  necessity; 
and  the  ideal  of  Beauty  was  simultaneous  with  the  ideal 
of  Humanity. 

But  we  now  descend  from  the  realm  of  ideas  to  the 
arena  of  reality,  in  order  to  discover  man  in  a  definite 
condition,  consequently  under  limitations,  which  result 
not  originally  from  his  abstract  conception,  but  from 
external  circumstances,  and  a  contingent  use  of  his 
freedom.  But  however  manifoldly  the  idea  of  huma- 
nity may  be  restricted  in  him,  its  simple  contents 
already  teach  us,  that  in  its  totality  only  two  opposite 
deviations  from  itself  can  occur.  Should  his  perfec- 
tion consist  in  the  accordant  energy  of  his  sensuous 
and  spiritual  powers,  he  can  only  fail  of  this  perfection 
either  by  a  want  of  harmony  or  of  energy.  Thus, 
before  we  have  examined  the  testimony  of  experience, 
we  are  beforehand  certain,  through  the  pure  reason, 


80 


jESTHETIC  culture. 


that  we  shall  find  the  actual,  consequently  the  limited 
man,  either  in  a  condition  of  intensity  or  of  relaxa- 
tion, according  as  either  the  partial  activity  of  single 
powers  destroys  the  harmony  of  his  being,  or  the 
unity  of  nature  establishes  itself  upon  the  equable 
relaxation  of  his  sensuous  and  spiritual  powers.  Both 
opposite  limits,  as  now  ought  to  be  proved,  are  re- 
moved by  Beauty,  which  restores  harmony  to  the 
intended  man,  and  energy  to  the  relaxed  man  ;  and  in 
this  manner,  according  to  its  nature,  leads  the  re- 
stricted back  to  an  absolute  condition,  and  creates 
man  as  a  perfect  whole  within  himself. 

Then  it  by  no  means  falsifies  in  Beauty  the  concep- 
tion which  we  entertained  of  it  in  Speculation  ;  only 
that  we  find  it  far  less  applicable  here,  than  there, 
where  we  needed  to  apply  it  to  the  pure  conception  of 
humanity.  In  man,  as  presented  by  experience, 
Beauty  finds  an  already  depraved  and  perverse  matter, 
which  robs  it  of  its  ideal  perfection,  in  proportion  as 
he  blends  with  that  his  individual  disposition.  Hence 
everywhere  in  reality  it  will  appear  only  as  a  parti- 
cular and  limited  species,  never  as  pure  genus  ;  in 
intended  minds  it  will  part  with  its  freedom  and  man- 
ifoldness,  in  relaxed  minds,  with  its  active  power ; 
but  this  contradictory  appearance  will  never  mislead 
us,  who  are  by  this  time  familiar  with  its  true  charac- 
ter. Far  from  defining  its  conception  with  the  crowd 
of  critics,  from  isolated  phenomena,  and  making  itself 
responsible  for  the  deficiency,  which  man  displays 
under  its  influence,  we  know  rather,  that  it  is  man 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


81 


who  transfers  to  Beauty  the  incompleteness  of  his  in- 
dividuality, who  by  his  subjective  limitation  perpetu- 
ally opposes  its  consummation,  and  reduces  its  absolute 
ideal  to  two  restricted  modes  of  development. 

It  was  affirmed,  that  the  reductive  Beauty  is  requi- 
site for  an  intended  mind,  and  the  energetical  for  a 
relaxed  mind.  But  I  call  man  intended,  as  well 
when  he  is  found  under  the  constraint  of  perceptions, 
as  when  under  the  constraint  of  ideas.  Every  exclu- 
sive domination  of  one  of  his  two  ground  impulses,  is 
a  condition  of  force  and  constraint  for  him ;  and 
freedom  only  consists  in  the  cooperation  of  both  his  na- 
tures. The  man  who  is  unduly  ruled  by  feelings,  or 
the  sensuously  intended  man,  is  then  relaxed,  and 
placed  in  freedom  by  form  ;  he  who  is  unduly  ruled 
by  laws,  or  the  spiritually  intended  man,  is  relaxed 
and  placed  in  freedom  by  matter.  Then,  in  order  to 
satisfy  this  twofold  problem,  the  reductive  Beauty  will 
manifest  itself  in  two  distinct  shapes.  First,  as 
peaceful  form,  it  will  mollify  savage  life,  and  lead  the 
way  from  perception  to  thoughts  ;  second,  as  living 
image,  it  will  endow  abstract  form  with  sensible  pow- 
er —  lead  back  conception  to  intuition,  and  law  to 
feeling.  It  performs  the  first  service  for  the  child  of 
nature,  the  second  for  the  child  of  art.  But  since 
in  both  cases  it  does  not  possess  perfect  control  over 
its  material,  but  depends  upon  that  which  either 
formless  nature,  or  contra-natural  art  affords,  it  will 
bear  in  both  cases  marks  of  its  origin,  and  lose  itself 
6 


82 


iESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


on  the  one  hand  more  in  material  life,  on  the  other, 
more  in  pure  abstract  form. 

To  be  able  to  form  a  conception  in  what  manner 
Beauty  may  become  a  means  to  abolish  that  twofold 
intensiveness,  we  must  discover  its  origin  in  the 
human  mind.  Resolve,  then,  for  a  short  sojourn  in 
the  realm  of  speculation,  before  leaving  it  entirely, 
to  sally  forth  more  confidently  into  the  field  of  ex- 
perience. 


EIGHTEENTH  LETTER. 


The  sensuous  man  is  led  by  Beauty  to  form  and 
reflection  ;  the  spiritual  man  is  re-conducted  by 
Beauty  to  matter,  and  the  world  of  sense  is  restored. 

It  appears  to  result  from  this,  that  there  must  be  a 
mean  condition  between  matter  and  form  —  between 
passion  and  action,  and  that  Beauty  places  us  in  this 
condition.  The  majority  of  mankind  form  this  idea 
of  Beauty,  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  reflect  upon  its 
operations,  and  refer  to  it  all  experiences.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  nothing  is  more  absurd  and  contra- 
dictory than  such  an  idea,  since  the  distance  between 
matter  and  form,  passion  and  action,  is  infinite,  and 
can  positively  be  mediated  by  nothing.  How  do  we 
remove  this  contradiction  ?  Beauty  combines  the 
two  opposite  conditions  of  perception  and  reflection, 
and  yet  really  affords  no  mean  between  the  two.  The 
former  is  made  certain  by  experience,  the  latter  di- 
rectly by  reason. 

This  is  the  particular  point,  whither  finally  the  whole 
question  of  Beauty  tends,  and  should  we  succeed  in 
solving  this  problem  satisfactorily,  we  shall  have  found 
at  the  same  time  the  clue  to  the  whole  labyrinth  of  aes- 
thetics. 

But  we  meet  here  with  two  very  different  operations, 


84 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


which  must  necessarily  support  each  other  in  this  in- 
quiry. Beauty,  in  the  first  place,  combines  two  con- 
ditions, which  are  diametrically  opposite,  and  can 
never  become  one.  We  must  proceed  upon  this  op- 
position ;  we  must  comprehend  and  recognize  it  in  its 
whole  clearness  and  force,  so  that  both  conditions  may 
be  precisely  defined  —  else  we  confound,  but  do  not 
unite.  Secondly,  Beauty  combines  these  two  discord- 
ant conditions,  and  thus  removes  the  disagreement. 
But  while  both  conditions  remain  in  lasting  opposition, 
they  are  only  to  be  combined  by  being  abolished. 
Then  our  second  business  is,  to  make  this  union 
perfect,  to  carry  it  through  so  clearly  and  completely, 
that  both  conditions  will  entirely  vanish  in  a  third, 
leaving  in  the  whole  no  trace  of  the  division  —  else  we 
dismember,  but  do  not  unite.  All  the  disputes  which 
ever  reigned  in  the  philosophical  world,  upon  the  con- 
ception of  Beauty,  and  which  reign  in  part  at  the 
present  day,  have  only  this  origin,  that  the  inquiries 
commenced  either  not  with  a  rigorous  discrimination, 
or  resulted  in  a  combination  not  sufficiently  perfect. 
Those  philosophers  who  blindly  trust  the  guidance  of 
their  feeling  in  a  consideration  of  this  subject,  can  at- 
tain to  no  conception  of  Beauty,  since  they  distinguish 
no  single  whole  in  the  sum  total  of  sensible  impres- 
sions. The  others  who  follow  intellect  exclusively,  can 
never  attain  a  conception  of  Beauty,  since  they  perceive 
in  the  same  total  nothing  but  parts,  and  spirit  and  mat- 
ter in  their  most  perfect  unity  remain  to  them  forever 
distinct.    The  first  fear  to  abolish  dynamical  Beauty, 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


85 


that  is,  as  an  active  power,  if  they  should  separate, 
what  is  associate  in  feeling ;  the  others  fear  to  abolish 
logical  Beauty,  that  is,  as  a  conception,  if  they  should 
combine  what  is  distinct  in  intellect.  The  former  will 
imagine  Beauty  as  it  acts ;  the  latter  will  leave  it  to 
act,  as  it  is  imagined.  Then  both  must  miss  the  truth 
—  the  former,  since  they  imitate  infinite  nature  with 
their  circumscribed  reflective  faculty  ;  the  latter,  since 
they  would  restrict  infinite  nature  according  to  their 
laws  of  thought.  The  first  fear  to  deprive  Beauty  of  its 
freedom,  by  a  too  severe  dismemberment ;  the  others 
fear  to  destroy  the  definiteness  of  its  conception  by  a 
too  rash  combination.  But  the  former  do  not  consider, 
that  the  freedom  in  which  they  justly  place  the  exist- 
ence of  Beauty,  is  not  anarchy,  but  harmony  of  laws  — 
not  caprice,  but  the  deepest  necessity ;  the  latter  do 
not  reflect,  that  the  definiteness  which  they  demand 
from  Beauty  with  equal  justice,  does  not  consist  in  the 
exclusion  of  certain  realities,  but  in  the  absolute  inclu- 
sion of  all  — that  it  is  not  restriction,  then,  but  infinity. 
We  shall  avoid  the  rocks,  on  which  both  are  ship- 
wrecked, if  we  start  from  the  two  elements,  in  which 
Beauty  divides  itself  for  the  intellect,  then  elevating 
ourselves  to  the  pure  aesthetic  unity,  through  which  it 
manifests  itself  to  the  perception,  and  in  which  both 
those  conditions  entirely  vanish.1 

1  The  above  parallel  will  have  afforded  an  inference  to  the  atten- 
tive reader,  that  the  sensuous  aestheticians,  who  allow  more  force  to 
the  testimony  of  experience  than  to  reasoning,  separate  themselves 
far  less  from  the  truth  according  to  fact,  than  their  opponents,  al- 


86 


./ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


though  they  cannot  compare  with  the  latter  in  insight;  and  we  find 
the  same  relation  everywhere  between  nature  and  science.  Nature 
(sense)  everywhere  combines,  the  intellect  separates ;  but  the  reason 
combines  again  ;  hence  man,  before  he  begins  to  philosophize,  is 
nearer  the  truth  than  the  philosopher,  who  has  not  yet  concluded 
his  research.  We  can  for  this  reason,  without  further  examination, 
be  convinced  of  the  error  of  a  system,  as  soon  as  it  contradicts  com- 
mon observation,  in  its  result;  but  with  equal  justice  we  may  sus- 
pect it,  when  form  and  method,  according  to  common  observation,  are 
in  its  favor.  Those  authors  may  console  themselves  with  the  latter, 
who  cannot  deliver  a  philosophical  deduction,  as  many  readers  seem 
to  expect,  like  a  fireside  conversation.  With  the  former  one  may 
6ilence  those  who  would  found  new  systems  at  the  expense  of  the 
human  understanding. 


NINETEENTH  LETTER. 


We  discern  in  man,  generally,  two  distinct  condi- 
tions of  passive  and  active  determinableness,  and  as 
many  conditions  of  passive  and  active  determinateness. 
The  exposition  of  this  principle  leads  us  soonest  to  the 
goal. 

The  condition  of  the  human  spirit  before  all  deter- 
minateness, which  is  given  to  it  by  outward  impres- 
sions, is  an  unlimited  determinableness.  The  Infinite 
of  space  and  time  is  granted  for  the  free  use  of  his 
imagination,  and  since,  according  to  supposition,  no- 
thing is  placed  in  this  wide  realm  of  the  Possible,  con- 
sequently nothing  excluded,  we  can  call  this  condition 
of  undeterminateness,  a  void  infinity,  which  is  by  no 
means  to  be  confounded  with  an  infinite  void. 

Now  suppose  his  sense  is  affected,  and  a  single  ac- 
tuality obtains  out  of  the  infinite  crowd  of  possible  de- 
terminations. Something  manifests  itself.  What  was 
nothing  but  a  mere  possibility  in  the  previous  condi- 
tion of  simple  determinableness,  has  now  become  an 
active  power  —  acquires  a  content ;  but  at  the  same 
time,  it  maintains,  as  active  power,  a  limit,  as  when 
mere  possibility,  it  was  unlimited.  Then  Reality  is 
there,  but  infinity  is  lost.  In  order  to  delineate  a 
shape  in  space,  we  must  confine  endless  space;  in 


88 


.ESTHETIC  culture. 


order  to  exhibit  a  special  phase  in  time,  we  must 
divide  the  entirety  of  time.  Then  we  attain  to  a  reality 
only  by  limits,  to  position  or  actual  establishment  only 
by  negation  or  exclusion,  to  determinateness  only  by 
the  abolition  of  our  free  determinableness. 

But  no  reality  will  exist  in  eternity  from  a  mere  ex- 
clusion, or  no  manifestation  from  pure  sensuous  per- 
ception, if  something  were  not  already  extant,  by  which 
to  exclude  —  if  the  positive  were  not  deduced  from 
negation,  entity  from  nullity,  by  an  absolute  action 
of  spirit :  this  action  of  mind  is  called  reflecting  or 
thinking,  and  its  result  is  Thought. 

There  is  no  space  for  us,  before  we  define  a  situation 
in  space,  but  we  should  never  define  a  situation  with- 
out absolute  Space  —  and  the  same  with  time.  There 
is  no  time  for  us,  before  we  have  the  present  moment, 
but  without  eternity  we  should  never  have  a  manifesta- 
tion of  the  moment.  Then  we  really  attain  to  the 
whole  only  through  the  part,  to  the  unlimited  only 
through  the  limited  ;  but  also,  we  only  attain  to  the 
part  through  the  whole,  only  to  the  limited  through  the 
unlimited. 

AY  hen  then  it  is  asserted  concerning  the  Beautiful, 
that  it  affords  man  a  passage  from  perception  to  reflec- 
tion, it  is  by  no  means  to  be  understood,  as  if  the 
Beautiful  could  fill  up  the  gulf  which  separates  percep- 
tion from  reflection,  passion  from  action  ;  this  gulf  is 
infinite,  and  nothing  universal  can  result  from  the  sin- 
gle in  eternity,  nothing  necessary  from  the  fortuitous, 
without  the  mediation  of  a  new  and  independent 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


89 


faculty.  Thought  is  the  immediate  action  of  this  abso- 
lute faculty,  which,  it  is  true,  must  be  induced  by  the 
senses  to  develop  itself,  but  in  its  development  depends 
so  little  upon  them,  that  it  rather  announces  itself 
only  through  its  opposition  to  them.  The  independ- 
ence with  which  it  acts,  excludes  every  foreign  inter- 
ference; and  Beauty  can  become  a  means,  to  lead  man 
from  matter  to  form,  from  perceptions  to  principles, 
from  a  limited  to  an  absolute  being,  not  in  so  far  as  it 
helps  in  thinking  (which  contains  an  evident  contradic- 
tion) but  only  in  so  far  as  it  procures  freedom  for  the 
reflective  faculties  to  develop  according  to  their  own 
laws. 

But  this  supposes,  that  the  freedom  of  the  reflective 
powers  can  be  restricted,  which  seems  to  conflict  with 
the  idea  of  its  independent  ability.  An  ability,  namely, 
which  receives  nothing  from  without  as  the  material  of 
its  activity,  can  only  be  restrained  by  withdrawal  of 
material,  thus  only  negatively  ;  and  it  argues  miscon- 
ception of  the  nature  of  a  spirit,  if  we  attribute  a  force 
to  the  sensuous  passion,  which  could  oppress  posi- 
tively the  freedom  of  the  mind.  It  is  true,  experience 
affords  numerous  examples,  where  the  intellectual 
powers  seem  subdued  in  proportion  to  the  impetuous 
action  of  the  sensuous  powers  ;  but  instead  of  deducing 
this  weakness  of  spirit  from  the  strength  of  passion, 
we  should  rather  explain  this  overweening  strength  of 
passion  by  that  weakness  of  spirit ;  since  the  senses 
can  no  otherwise  display  a  force  against  man,  than  so 
far  as  spirit  has  freely  ceased  to  maintain  itself  as  such. 


90 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


But  while  by  this  explanation  I  seek  to  meet  a  diffi- 
culty, I  have  apparently  involved  myself  in  another, 
and  have  saved  the  independence  of  the  mind  only  at 
the  cost  of  its  unity.  For  how  can  the  mind  obtain 
out  of  itself  at  the  same  time  principles  of  activity 
and  of  inactivity,  without  dividing  and  opposing  itself. 

Here  we  must  remember,  that  we  have  before  us  the 
finite,  not  the  infinite  spirit.  The  finite  spirit  is  that 
which  only  becomes  active  through  passivity,  which 
only  attains  the  absolute  through  the  limited,  only  acts 
and  creates  so  far  as  it  receives  material.  Then  such 
a  spirit  will  combine  an  impulse  for  the  actual  or  lim- 
ited with  an  impulse  for  form  or  the  absolute,  as  being 
the  condition,  without  which  it  can  neither  possess  nor 
satisfy  the  latter  impulse.  How  far  two  such  opposite 
tendencies  can  exist  together  in  the  same  being,  is  a 
problem  which  may  indeed  puzzle  the  metaphysician, 
but  not  the  transcendental  philosopher.  The  latter  by 
no  means  pretends  to  explain  the  possibility  of  things, 
but  is  content  with  establishing  the  knowledge  by 
which  the  possibility  of  actual  life  is  apprehended. 
And  since  life  would  be  just  as  little  possible  without 
that  mental  contrariety  as  without  absolute  mental 
unity,  so  he  sets  forth  both  ideas  with  perfect  author- 
ity, as  equally  necessary  conditions  of  actual  life,  with- 
out troubling  himself  further  with  their  compatibility. 
Finally,  this  in-dwelling  of  two  primary  impulses  in 
no  way  contradicts  the  absolute  unity  of  spirit,  if  one 
only  distinguishes  himself  from  both  impulses.  It  is 
true,  they  both  exist  and  act  in  him,  but  he  himself  is 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


91 


neither  matter  nor  form,  neither  perception  nor  rea- 
son —  a  fact  which  those  never  appear  to  have  consid- 
ered, who  only  allow  the  human  spirit  to  act,  where  its 
procedure  agrees  with  reason,  and  declare  him  to  be 
purely  passive  where  that  contradicts  reason. 

Each  of  these  primary  impulses,  as  soon  as  it  is  un- 
folded, strives,  according  to  its  nature  and  necessarily, 
towards  satisfaction,  but  for  the  reason  that  both  neces- 
sarily strive,  and  yet  both  for  opposite  objects,  this  two- 
fold constraint  mutually  cancels  itself,  and  between 
both  the  Will  maintains  a  perfect  freedom.  Then  it  is 
the  Will  which  maintains  itself  against  both  impulses 
as  a  force  (as  ground  of  the  actual),  but  neither  of  the 
two  can  act  for  itself  as  a  force  against  the  other.  The 
violent  man  is  not  withheld  from  injustice  by  the  posi- 
tive inclination  to  justice,  in  which  he  is  by  no  means 
deficient,  and  the  excitable  man  is  not  led  to  violate 
his  principles  by  the  most  lively  incentive  to  pleasure. 
There  is  in  man  no  other  force  than  his  Will,  and  that 
only  which  abolishes  man,  namely,  death  and  each 
deprivation  of  consciousness,  can  take  away  his  inmost 
freedom. 

A  necessity  without  us  defines  our  condition,  our 
existence  in  time,  by  means  of  sensuous  perception. 
This  is  entirely  involuntary,  and  so  we  must  be  pas- 
sive beneath  its  operation.  In  like  manner  a  necessity 
within  us  reveals  our  personality,  by  the  instigation  of 
that  sensuous  perception  and  by  opposition  to  the 
same  ;  for  the  consciousness  cannot  depend  upon  the 
Will,  which  it  supposes.   This  primitive  announcement 


92 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


of  personality  is  not  our  merit,  and  its  want  is  not  our 
fault.  Reason,  that  is,  absolute  consequence  and  uni- 
versality of  consciousness,  is  only  demanded  of  him 
who  is  self-conscious  ;  previously  he  is  not  a  man,  and 
no  act  of  humanity  can  be  expected  from  him.  The 
metaphysician  can  declare  the  restrictions  which  the 
free  and  independent  spirit  suffers  from  perception,  as 
little  as  the  natural  philosopher  can  apprehend  the 
infinity  which  discovers  itself  on  occasion  of  this 
restriction  in  personality.  Neither  abstraction  nor 
experience  conduct  us  back  to  the  source  from  which 
our  ideas  of  universality  and  necessity  flow ;  their  early 
appearance  in  time  removes  it  from  the  observer,  and 
their  transcendent  origin  from  the  metaphysical  in- 
quirer. But  enough,  that  self-consciousness  exists,  and 
that  contemporaneous  with  its  unchangeable  unity  is 
exhibited  the  law  of  unity  for  all,  that  is  for  man, 
and  for  all,  that  should  become  through  him,  for  his 
cognition  and  action.  Unavoidably,  unvitiably,  incon- 
ceivably do  the  ideas  of  truth  and  right  appear  already 
in  the  period  of  sensuousness,  and  we  perceive  the 
eternal  in  time,  and  the  necessary  in  the  series  of 
chance,  without  being  able  to  say  whence  and  how  it 
arose.  Thus  feeling  and  consciousness  appear,  en- 
tirely without  the  assistance  of  the  subject,  and  the 
origin  of  both  lies  as  much  beyond  our  will,  as  it  lies 
beyond  the  sphere  of  our  knowledge. 

But  if  both  are  actual,  and  if  man,  by  means  of  per- 
ception, has  made  experience  of  a  definite  existence, 
and  by  self-consciousness  experience  of  his  absolute 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


93 


existence,  so  will  both  his  primary  impulses  be  quick- 
ened together  with  their  objects.  The  sensuous  im- 
pulse awakes  with  the  experience  of  life  (with  the 
commencement  of  the  individual),  the  rational  with 
the  experience  of  principle  (with  the  commencement 
of  personality),  and  now  first,  when  both  have  come 
into  existence,  is  his  humanity  constructed.  Till  this 
has  taken  place,  everything  within  him  results  from 
the  law  of  necessity  ;  but  now  the  hand  of  nature 
abandons  him,  and  it  is  his  concern  to  maintain  the 
humanity  which  she  founded  and  revealed  within  him. 
That  is,  as  soon  as  two  opposing  impulses  in  him  are 
active,  both  lose  their  necessitation,  and  the  opposition 
of  two  necessities  gives  birth  to  Freedom.1 

1  I  would  remark,  in  order  to  prevent  all  misconception,  that  so 
often  as  mention  is  here  made  of  freedom,  that  is  not  meant  which 
necessarily  appertains  to  man,  considered  as  an  intelligence,  and 
which  can  neither  be  given  to  nor  taken  from  him  ;  but  that  which  is 
based  upon  his  compound  nature.  When  man  for  the  most  part  only 
acts  rationally,  he  demonstrates  thereby  a  freedom  of  the  first  kind ; 
when  he  acts  rationally  within  the  restrictions  of  matter,  and  materi- 
ally under  the  laws  of  reason,  he  demonstrates  thereby  a  freedom  of 
the  second  kind.  One  might  simply  explain  the  latter  by  a  natural 
possibility  of  the  former. 


TWENTIETH  LETTER. 


That  freedom  cannot  be  subject  to  influence,  results 
already  from  its  simple  idea ;  but  that  freedom  itself 
is  not  a  work  of  man,  but  an  operation  of  nature,  (this 
word  taken  in  its  widest  signification),  and  that,  then, 
it  can  be  accelerated  and  retarded  by  natural  causes, 
follows  with  like  necessity  from  the  preceding.  It  first 
commences  when  man  is  complete,  and  both  his  pri- 
mary impulses  have  unfolded  ;  then  it  must  be  want- 
ing, so  long  as  he  is  incomplete,  and  one  of  his  im- 
pulses is  excluded,  and  it  can  be  restored  by  all  that 
secures  to  him  his  completeness. 

Now  suppose  really  a  moment  to  occur,  as  well  in 
♦he  whole  genus  as  in  the  single  man,  in  which  man  is- 

complete  and  one  of  his  instincts  excluded.  We  know 
that  he  commences  with  mere  life,  in  order  to  end 
with  form  ;  that  he  is  an  individual  sooner  than  Per- 
son, that  he  proceeds  from  the  limited  to  the  infinite. 
The  sensuous  impulse  then  comes  into  action  sooner 
than  the  rational,  since  perception  precedes  conscious- 
ness, and  in  this  priority  of  the  sensuous  impulse  we 
find  the  explication  to  the  whole  history  of  human 
freedom. 

Suppose  then  a  moment  when  the  sensuous  impulse 
acts  as  nature  and  as  necessity,  since  the  form-impulse 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


95 


is  not  yet  in  active  opposition  ;  when  sensuousness  is 
a  force,  since  the  man  has  not  yet  begun  —  then  in  the 
man  himself  there  can  be  no  other  force  but  the  Will. 
But  in  the  reflective  condition,  on  the  contrary,  to 
which  man  should  now  pass,  the  reason  should  be  a 
force,  and  the  place  of  the  physical  should  be  usurped 
by  a  logical  and  moral  necessity.  Then  that  percep- 
tive force  must  be  annihilated,  before  its  law  can  be 
removed.  Thus  it  does  not  follow,  that  something 
commences,  which  not  yet  was  —  but  something  which 
was,  must  previously  cease.  Man  cannot  pass  imme- 
diately from  perception  to  reflection  ;  he  must  retrace 
one  step,  since  only  when  one  determination  is  re- 
moved, can  the  opposite  succeed.  Then  in  order  to 
exchange  passivity  for  self-activity,  a  passive  for  an 
active  determination,  he  must  instantly  be  free  from 
all  determinations,  and  pass  through  a  condition  of 
mere  determinableness.  Consequently  in  a  certain 
sense  he  must  return  to  that  negative  condition  of  mere 
undeterminateness,  in  which  he  was  found,  before  he 
had  received  a  sensuous  impression.  But  this  condi- 
tion was  utterly  void  of  contents,  and  it  is  now  requi- 
site to  combine  an  equal  undeterminateness,  and  an 
equal  unlimited  determinableness  with  the  greatest 
possible  capacity  (Gchalt)  since  something  positive 
ought  directly  to  result  from  such  a  condition.  The 
determination  which  he  may  receive  through  sensation, 
must  then  be  retained,  since  he  ought  not  to  lose 
reality;  but  at  the  same  time  it  must  be  abolished  so 
far  as  it  is  a  restriction,  that  an  unlimited  determina- 


96 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


bleness  may  ensue.  Thus  the  problem  is,  at  the  same 
time,  to  annihilate  and  preserve  the  determination  of 
condition,  which  is  only  possible  by  setting  another  in 
opposition.  The  scales  of  a  balance  stand  poised, 
when  they  are  empty  ;  but  they  also  stand  poised, 
when  they  contain  equal  weights. 

Thus  the  mind  passes  from  perception  to  reflection 
by  an  intermediate  inclination  (Stimmung),  in  which 
sensuousness  and  reason  are  active  at  the  same  time, 
but  for  this  reason  mutually  destroy  their  determining 
power,  and  effect  a  negation  through  an  opposition. 
This  intermediate  inclination,  in  which  the  mind  is 
neither  physically  nor  morally  constrained,  and  yet  is 
active  in  both  ways,  preeminently  deserves  to  be  called 
a  free  inclination  ;  and  if  we  call  the  condition  of  sen- 
suous determination  the  physical,  but  that  of  reflective 
determination  the  logical  and  moral  condition,  we 
must  call  this  condition  of  real  and  active  determina- 
bleness,  the  aesthetic  1  condition. 

1  The  following  may  serve  as  explanation  for  the  reader,  who  im- 
perfectly comprehends  the  pure  signification  of  this  word,  so  much 
abused  through  ignorance.  All  things  which  can  ever  be  objects  of 
perception,  may  be  considered  under  four  different  relations.  A  fact 
can  relate  directly  to  our  sensuous  condition,  (our  existence  and  well- 
being),  that  is  its  physical  quality.  Or  it  can  relate  to  the  under- 
standing, and  furnish  us  with  a  cognition  ;  that  is  its  logical  quality. 
Or  it  can  relate  to  our  will,  and  be  considered  as  an  object  of  choice 
for  a  rational  being;  that  is  its  moral  quality.  Or  finally,  it  can 
relate  to  the  ent  irety  of  our  different  powers,  without  being  a  definite 
object  for  any  single  one  of  them  ;  that  is  its  aesthetic  quality.  A 
man  can  recommend  himself  to  us  by  his  obligingness;  we  may 
regard  Mm  through  the  medium  of  his  conversation  ;  he  may  inspire 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


97 


us  with  respect  by  his  character,  but  finally,  independent  of  all  this, 
and  without  ever  having  regard  in  our  judgment  either  to  any  law  or  any 
design,  he  may  please  us,  in  pure  contemplation,  through  his  empiri- 
cal expression.  We  criticise  him  aesthetically  in  the  latter  quality^ 
So  there  is  a  culture  for  health,  a  culture  for  understanding,  a  culture 
for  morality,  a  culture  for  taste  and  for  beauty.  The  latter  has  for 
its  design,  to  bring  out  the  totality  of  our  sensuous  and  spiritual 
powers  in  the  greatest  possible  harmony.  Meanwhile,  since  we  are 
disposed  to  combat  the  idea  of  arbitrariness  in  the  idea  of  the  aesthe- 
tic, misled  by  a  false  taste,  and  still  more  confirmed  in  this  error  by 
false  reasoning,  I  here  remark  in  addition,  (although  these  letters 
upon  aesthetic  culture  are  concerned  with  almost  nothing  else  than 
the  confutation  of  this  error),  that  the  mind  in  aesthetic  conditions 
acts  indeed  freely,  and  in  the  highest  degree  free  from  all  compulsion, 
but  in  nowise  free  from  laws,  and  that  this  aesthetic  freedom  differs 
from  logical  necessity  in  reflection  and  from  moral  necessity  in  voli- 
tion, only  in  this  point,  that  the  laws  which  guide  the  operation  of  the 
mind,  do  not  become  manifested,  and,  since  they  meet  with  no  oppo- 
sition, they  do  not  have  the  appearance  of  compulsion. 


7 


TWENTY-FIRST  LETTER. 


There  is,  as  I  remarked  in  the  beginning  of  the 
previous  letter,  a  twofold  condition  of  determinable- 
ness  and  a  twofold  condition  of  determinateness.  I 
can  now  substantiate  this  principle. 

The  mind  is  determinable  only  so  far  as  generally  it 
is  not  determined ;  but  it  is  also  determinable  so  far 
as  it  is  not  exclusively  determined,  that  is,  not  limited 
by  its  determination.  The  former  is  mere  indetermi- 
nateness,  (it  is  without  limits,  because  it  is  without 
reality)  ;  the  latter  is  the  aesthetic  determinableness, 
(it  has  no  limits  since  it  combines  all  reality). 

The  mind  is  determined  so  far,  generally,  as  it  only 
is  limited  ;  but  it  is  also  determined  so  far  as  it  limits 
itself  by  a  single  absolute  faculty.  It  finds  itself  in  the 
first  case,  if  it  perceives  —  in  the  second,  if  it  reflects. 
Then  what  reflection  is  with  reference  to  determina- 
tion, the  aesthetic  condition  is  with  reference  to  deter- 
minableness ;  the  former  is  restriction  from  an  inter- 
nal, infinite  power,  the  latter  is  negation  from  an 
internal,  infinite  fulness.  Just  as  perception  and  re- 
flection come  in  contact  at  the  only  point,  where  the 
mind  in  both  conditions  is  determined,  and  man  is  ex- 
clusively something  —  either  individual  or  Person, — 
but  otherwise  are  infinitely  separated  from  each  other  ; 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


99 


in  like  manner  does  the  aesthetic  determinableness  coin- 
cide with  mere  indeterminateness  in  the  only  point, 
where  both  exclude  that  definite  existence,  while  in  all 
other  points  they  are  as  distinct  as  nullity  and  totality, 
consequently  infinitely  distinct.  Then  if  the  latter, 
indeterminateness  from  deficiency,  is  conceived  of  as 
a  void  infinity,  the  aesthetic  freedom  of  determinate- 
ness,  which  is  its  real  counterpart,  must  be  considered 
as  an  occupied  infinity  ;  a  representation  which  coin- 
cides strictly  with  that  instilled  by  the  previous  in- 
quiries. 

Man,  then,  in  the  aesthetic  condition  is  null,  so  far 
as  he  regards  a  single  result,  and  not  the  whole  ability, 
and  has  in  view  the  deficiency  in  himself  of  each  par- 
ticular determination.  Hence  we  must  allow  the  per- 
fect propriety  of  those,  who  declare  Beauty  and  the 
inclination  which  it  imparts  to  the  mind,  when  con- 
sidered with  reference  to  knowledge  and  disposition,  to 
be  utterly  negative  and  fruitless.  Their  views  are 
perfectly  just,  since  Beauty  actually  affords  no  single 
result,  either  for  the  intellect  or  for  the  will ;  it  carries 
out  no  single  design,  either  intellectual  or  moral ;  it 
discovers  no  single  truth  —  helps  us  to  perform  no 
single  duty,  and  is,  in  a  word,  equally  incapable  of 
establishing  the  character  or  enlightening  the  head. 
Then  so  far  as  a  man's  personal  worth  or  dignity  only 
depends  upon  himself,  aesthetic  culture  leaves  it  en- 
tirely indeterminate,  and  nothing  farther  is  gained, 
than  to  make  it  possible  for  him,  on  the  side  of  na- 
ture, to  make  out  of  himself  what  he  will  —  than 


100 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


fully  to  restore  to  him  the  freedom  to  be,  what  he  ought 
to  be. 

But  by  this  means  something  infinite  is  attained. 
For  as  soon  as  we  call  to  mind  that  this  very  freedom 
is  taken  from  him  by  the  unequal  compulsion  of  nature 
in  perception,  and  by  the  excluding  legislation  of  rea- 
son in  reflection,  we  must  consider  the  ability  which 
is  restored  to  him  in  the  aesthetic  inclination,  as  the 
highest  of  all  gifts  —  as  the  gift  of  humanity.  He 
certainly  possesses  in  disposition  this  humanity,  before 
each  definite  condition  into  which  he  can  arrive,  but  in 
fact  he  loses  it  with  every  definite  condition  into  which 
he  comes,  and  it  must  be  restored  to  him  each  time 
anew  by  the  aesthetic  life,  if  he  would  pass  over  to  an 
opposite  condition.1 

Then  it  is  not  only  poetically  allowable,  but  also 
philosophically  correct,  to  call  Beauty  our  second 
creatress.    For  although  she  has  made  humanity  only 

1  It  is  true,  the  rapidity  with  which  certain  characters  proceed  from 
perception  to  reflection  and  resolution,  will  permit  us  hardly,  or  not 
at  all,  to  recognize  the  aesthetic  state,  through  which  in  this  time 
they  must  necessarily  pass.  Such  minds  cannot  long  endure  the 
condition  of  indeterminateness,  and  press  impatiently  after  a  result, 
which  they  do  not  find  in  the  boundlessness  of  the  aesthetic  condi- 
tion. On  the  contrary,  the  aesthetic  condition  displays  itself  in  a  far 
greater  surface  among  those  who  find  more  satisfaction  in  the  feeling 
of  entire  ability,  than  in  any  one  of  its  single  operations.  The  latter 
can  endure  restriction  with  as  little  pleasure  as  the  first  regard 
vacuity.  I  hardly  need  mention  that  the  first  are  calculated  for  de- 
tail and  subordinate  occupations,  the  latter  —  supposing  that  they 
combine  reality  with  this  ability  —  for  entirety  and  distinguished 
parts. 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


101 


possible  to  us,  and  for  the  rest  has  left  it  to  our  free 
will,  how  far  we  will  make  it  actual,  she  has  it  in 
common  with  our  original  creatress,  Nature  —  who, 
in  like  manner,  has  only  bestowed  the  ability  for  hu- 
manity, but  has  left  its  use  to  our  own  volition. 


TWENTY-SECOND  LETTER. 


If,  then,  the  aesthetic  inclination  of  the  mind  must 
be  considered  in  one  respect  as  null,  as  soon,  namely, 
as  we  direct  our  attention  to  single  and  definite  ac- 
tions, it  is  still  to  be  regarded  in  another  respect  as  a 
condition  of  the  highest  reality,  so  far  as  we  thereby 
consider  the  absence  of  all  limits,  and  the  totality  of 
powers,  which  are  mutually  active  in  that  condition. 
Then  we  can  as  little  blame  those  who  declare  the 
aesthetic  state  to  be  the  most,  fruitful  with  respect  to 
knowledge  and  morality.  Their  views  are  perfectly 
just,  since  a  mental  inclination  which  comprehends 
in  itself  the  wholeness  of  humanity,  must  also  necessa- 
rily include  all  its  single  manifestations,  according  to 
ability ;  a  mental  inclination  which  removes  all  limits 
from  the  wholeness  of  human  nature,  must  necessarily 
remove  them  also  from  all  its  single  manifestations. 
For  the  reason  that  it  takes  no  single  function  of  hu- 
manity exclusively  under  its  protection,  it  is  well-dis- 
posed towards  each  one  without  distinction,  and  favors 
no  single  one  preeminently,  since  it  is  to  all  the  basis 
of  possibility.  All  other  exercises  give  the  mind  a 
particular  dexterity,  but  also  confine  it  within  a  partic- 
ular limit ;  the  aesthetic  alone  leads  to  the  unlimited. 
Every  other  condition  to  which  we  can  arrive,  refers 


iESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


103 


us  to  a  previous  one,  and  requires  for  its  development 
a  subsequent  one ;  the  aesthetic  alone  is  a  whole  in 
itself,  since  it  combines  within  itself  all  the  conditions 
for  its  origin  and  duration.  Here  alone  do  we  feel 
ourselves  snatched  as  it  were  from  time  ;  and  our  hu- 
manity unfolds  itself  with  a  purity  and  integrity,  as  if 
it  had  yet  experienced  no  detriment  from  the  in-work- 
ing of  external  powers. 

Whatever  flatters  our  senses  in  immediate  per- 
ception, opens  our  tender  and  susceptible  mind  to 
every  impression,  but  also  in  the  same  degree  makes 
us  less  capable  of  effort.  Whatever  exerts  our  .re- 
flective powers  and  invites  to  abstract  conceptions, 
strengthens  our  spirit  to  every  kind  of  resistance,  but 
hardens  it  too  in  the  same  proportion,  and  deprives  of 
as  much  susceptibility  as  it  gains  of  greater  self-activ- 
ity. For  this  reason,  one  as  well  as  the  other  neces- 
sarily lead  at  last  to  exhaustion,  since  neither  matter 
can  continue  long  without  plastic  power,  nor  power 
without  susceptible  matter.  If  on  the  contrary  we 
have  given  ourselves  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  genuine 
Beauty,  at  such  a  moment  we  are  equally  master  of 
our  passive  and  active  powers,  and  with  equal  facility 
do  we  address  ourselves  to  the  Serious  and  to  Sport  — 
to  calm  and  to  emotion  —  to  compliance  and  to  resist- 
ance —  to  abstract  reflection  and  to  intuition. 

This  lofty  equanimity  and  freedom  of  spirit,  united 
with  power  and  activity,  is  the  state  in  which  a  genu- 
ine work  of  art  should  leave  us,  and  there  is  no  surer 
touchstone  of  the  true  aesthetic  quality.    If,  after  an 


104 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


enjoyment  of  this  kind,  we  find  ourselves  preeminently 
disposed  to  some  one  particular  mode  of  feeling  or 
action,  unfit  for  and  averse  to  another,  it  constitutes 
an  unerring  proof,  that  we  have  not  experienced  a 
purely  (Esthetic  action  ;  whether  it  be  attributable  to 
the  object  or  to  our  mode  of  perception,  or  (as  is  most 
always  the  case)  at  the  same  time  to  both. 

As  there  is  no  pure  aesthetic  action  to  be  met  with 
in  reality,  (for  man  can  never  escape  from  dependence 
upon  powers),  the  excellence  of  a  work  of  art  can  only 
consist  in  its  greater  propinquity  to  that  ideal  of  aes- 
thetic purity  ;  and  with  all  the  freedom  which  may  be 
secured  to  it,  we  shall  still  leave  it  in  a  certain  state 
and  with  a  peculiar  direction.  The  more  universal, 
then,  the  state,  and  the  less  confined  the  direction  is, 
which  is  given  to  our  mind  by  a  definite  species  of  art, 
and  by  any  of  its  definite  products,  the  nobler  is  that 
species  and  the  more  eminent  such  a  product.  We 
can  try  this  with  works  of  different  arts,  and  with 
different  works  of  the  same  art.  We  retire  from  ex- 
quisite music  with  a  lively  perception,  from  a  beautiful 
poem  with  quickened  imagination,  from  noble  sculp- 
ture and  architecture  with  excited  intellect ;  but  who- 
ever would  invite  us  to  abstract  reflection  directly  after 
lofty  musical  enjoyment,  to  the  performance  of  a 
formal  duty  of  every-day  life  directly  after  superior 
poetical  enjoyment,  or  would  inflame  our  imagination 
and  surprise  our  feelings  directly  after  the  contempla- 
tion of  superior  works  of  painting  or  sculpture,  would 
make  but  an  indifferent  choice  of  time.    The  reason 


/ 


.ESTHETIC   CULTURE.  105 

is,  that  even  the  most  elevated  music  stands  in  a  greater 
affinity  to  the  senses  through  its  method  of  influence, 
than  true  aesthetic  freedom  allows  —  that  the  most  suc- 
cessful poem  always  participates  more  with  the  capri- 
cious and  fortuitous  play  of  the  imagination,  as  its 
medium,  than  is  permitted  by  the  internal  necessity  of 
genuine  Beauty  —  that  the  most  eminent  piece  of 
sculpture  —  and  this  perhaps  particularly — is  nearly 
allied  to  the  gravity  of  science  by  the  precision  of  its 
conception.  In  the  mean  time  these  special  affinities 
gradually  disappear  with  the  loftier  standard  attained 
by  a  work  from  these  three  kinds  of  art,  and  it  is  a 
necessary  and  natural  result  of  their  perfection,  that, 
without  abandoning  their  objective  limits,  the  different 
arts  always  become  more  similar  in  their  action  upon 
the  mind.  Music  in  its  loftiest  excellence  must  be- 
come shape,  and  affect  us  with  the  tranquil  power  of 
an  antique  ;  the  plastic  art  in  its  highest  consummation 
must  become  music,  and  move  us  by  direct  sensuous 
presence ;  poetry  in  its  most  perfect  development, 
must  influence  us  with  all  the  potency  of  music,  but 
at  the  same  time,  like  the  plastic  art,  must  surround 
us  with  a  clear  tranquillity.  Consummate  style  in 
every  art  manifests  itself,  in  knowing  how  to  remove 
its  specific  limits,  without  also  abolishing  its  specific 
advantages,  while  a  skilful  improvement  of  its  pecu- 
liarity bestows  upon  it  a  more  universal  character. 

And  the  artist  must  not  only  overcome  by  his  treat- 
ment the  limits,  which  the  specific  character  of  his 
kind  of  art  brings  with  it,  but  also  those  which  belong 


106 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


to  the  particular  material  which  he  elaborates.  In  a 
genuine  work  of  art  the  subject  should  effect  nothing, 
but  the  form  everything  ;  since  the  entirety  of  man  is 
acted  upon  by  form  alone,  but  only  single  powers  by 
the  subject.  However  noble  and  comprehensive  then 
the  subject  may  be,  it  is  always  confined  in  its  influ- 
ence upon  the  spirit,  and  true  aesthetic  freedom  is  to  be 
expected  only  from  form.  Herein  then  consists  the 
art-secret  of  the  master,  that  by  the  form  he  abolishes 
the  subject ;  and  the  more  imposing,  assuming,  attract- 
ive the  subject  is  in  itself,  the  more  absolutely  that  it 
intrudes  its  operation,  or  the  more  inclined  the  ob- 
server is,  to  merge  himself  immediately  in  the  subject, 
the  more  triumphant  is  the  art  which  repels  the  former, 
and  maintains  authority  over  the  latter.  The  mind  of 
the  spectator  and  hearer  must  remain  entirely  free  and 
inviolable,  it  should  pass  from  the  magic  circle  of  the 
artist,  pure  and  perfect  as  from  the  hands  of  the  Crea- 
tor. The  most  frivolous  object  must  be  so  handled, 
that  we  remain  disposed  to  pass  immediately  from  that 
to  one  of  sober  earnest.  The  gravest  subject  "must  be 
so  handled,  that  we  retain  the  capability  of  exchanging 
it  immediately  for  the  lightest  sport.  The  arts  of 
Emotion,  such  as  tragedy,  are  no  exception  ;  for,  in 
the  first  place,  those  arts  are  not  entirely  free,  since 
they  are  enlisted  in  the  service  of  a  particular  design 
(the  pathetic),  and  then  too  no  real  connoisseur  will 
deny,  that  works,  even  those  of  the  latter  class,  are 
more  perfect,  the  more  they  respect  the  freedom  of  the 
mind  in  the  highest  storm  of  emotion.    There  is  a  fine 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


107 


art  of  the  passions,  but  a  fine  pathetic  art  is  a  contra- 
diction, since  the  infallible  effect  of  Beauty  is  freedom 
from  passion.  No  less  contradictory  is  the  idea  of  a 
fine  teaching  (didactic)  or  improving  (moral)  art, 
since  nothing  conflicts  more  with  the  conception  of 
Beauty,  than  to  give  the  mind  a  definite  tendency. 

Yet  a  want  of  form  is  not  always  evinced  by  a  work, 
when  it  produces  an  effect  by  its  subject  alone  ;  for  it 
may  as  often  result  from  a  deficiency  of  form  in  the 
critic.  If  the  latter  is  either  too  intended  or  too  re- 
laxed, and  accustomed  to  regard  things  either  only  by 
the  intellect  or  only  by  the  senses,  he  will  confine  him- 
self only  to  the  parts  even  in  the  most  successful 
whole,  and  only  to  the  subject-matter  in  the  fairest 
form.  Affected  only  by  the  rude  clement,  he  is  first 
obliged  to  destroy  the  aesthetic  organization  of  a  work, 
before  he  can  find  satisfaction  in  it,  and  to  pick  out 
laboriously  the  single  traits,  which  the  master  with  in- 
finite art  had  caused  to  disappear  in  the  harmony  of 
the  whole.  His  interest  therein  is  either  positively 
moral  or  positively  physical ;  only  it  is  not — what  it 
should  be —  aesthetical.  Such  readers  relish  a  serious 
and  pathetic  poem,  like  a  sermon,  and  a  naif  or  comi- 
cal one,  like  an  intoxicating  drink  ;  and  were  they 
sufficiently  tasteless,  to  require  edification  from  a  tra- 
gedy and  epic,  were  it  even  a  Messiah,  so  they  would 
infallibly  take  offence  at  a  song  of  Anacreon  or 
Catullus. 


TWENTY-THIRD  LETTER. 


I  again  resume  the  thread  of  my  inquiries,  which  I 
have  interrupted  only  to  make  the  application  of  the 
principles  established,  to  practical  art  and  to  a  criti- 
cism of  its  works. 

Then  the  passage  from  the  passive  condition  of  per- 
ception to  the  active  one  of  reflection  and  volition, 
is  only  effected  by  an  intermediate  condition  of  aes- 
thetic freedom,  and  although  this  condition  determines 
of  itself  nothing  either  for  our  judgments  or  disposi- 
tions, consequently  leaving  our  intellectual  and  moral 
worth  entirely  problematical,  yet  it  is  the  necessary 
stipulation,  by  which  alone  we  can  attain  to  a  judg- 
ment and  a  disposition.  In  a  word,  there  is  no  other 
way  of  making  the  sensuous  man  rational,  than  by  first 
making  him  aestheticaL 

But,  you  may  object,  ought  this  mediation  to  be  ac- 
tually indispensable  ?  Should  not  truth  and  duty  be 
able  to  effect  an  entry  into  the  sensuous  man  for  and 
by  themselves  alone  ?  To  this  I  must  reply  ;  that  if 
they  cannot,  they  must  in  fact  impute  it  only  to  their 
own  determining  power,  and  nothing  would  be  more  at 
variance  with  my  previous  assertions,  than  if  they  had 
the  appearance  of  favoring  the  opposite  opinion.  It 
has  been  explicitly  proved  that  Beauty  affords  no  re- 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


109 


suit  either  to  the  intellect  or  the  volition,  that  it  inter- 
feres in  no  operation  either  of  reflection  or  resolution, 
that  it  only  imparts  to  both  the  ability,  but  leaves  the 
actual  use  of  this  ability  wholly  undefined.  Thus  all 
external  assistance  is  removed,  and  the  pure  logical 
form,  the  idea,  must  address  itself  directly  to  the  in- 
tellect, the  pure  moral  form,  the  law,  directly  to  the 
volition. 

But  to  effect  this  —  to  produce  a  pure  form  for  the 
sensuous  man  —  this  I  maintain,  can  only  be  rendered 
possible  by  the  aesthetic  inclination  of  the  mind.  Truth 
is  nothing  that  can  be  externally  perceived  like  reality 
or  the  sensuous  existence  of  things ;  it  is  something 
that  self-acting  and  independent  reflection  educes,  and 
it  is  this  self-activity,  this  freedom,  that  we  miss  in  the 
sensuous  man.  The  latter  is  already  defined  (physi- 
cally), and  consequently  has  no  longer  any  free  deter- 
minableness  ;  which  he  must  necessarily  first  recover, 
before  he  can  exchange  the  passive  for  an  active  deter- 
mination. But  he  can  only  recover  it,  either  by  resign- 
ing the  passive  determination  which  he  had,  or  by 
already  containing  ivithin  himself  the  active,  to  which 
he  should  pass.  If  he  only  resigned  his  passive  deter- 
mination, he  would  at  the  same  time  resign  the  possi- 
bility of  an  active  one,  since  thought  and  form  re- 
quire subject-matter  for  th  Mr  manifestation.  Then  he 
must  contain  the  latter  within  himself,  he  must  at  the 
same  time  be  passively  and  actively  defined,  that  is, 
he  must  become  aesthetical. 

Then  by  the  aesthetic  state  of  the  mind  is  the  self- 


110 


jESTHETIC  culture. 


activity  of  the  reason  displayed  on  the  field  of  sensu- 
ousness,  the  force  of  perception  already  weakened 
within  its  own  sphere,  and  the  physical  man  so  far  en- 
nobled, that  the  spiritual  need  only  unfold  itself  from 
the  former  according  to  the  laws  of  freedom.  Hence 
the  step  from  the  sesthetical  to  the  logical  and  moral 
condition  (from  Beauty  to  truth  and  duty),  becomes  in- 
finitely easier,  than  was  the  step  from  the  physical  to 
the  sesthetical  condition,  (from  the  mere  blind  life  to 
form).  Man  can  achieve  this  step  by  his  pure  free- 
dom, since  he  only  need  to  receive  and  not  to  give, 
only  to  disunite  his  nature,  not  to  amplify  it ;  the  ses- 
thetical man  will  decide  and  act  with  universal  vali- 
dity, as  soon  as  he  wills  so  to  do.  Nature  must  facili- 
tate the  step  from  rude  matter  to  Beauty,  where  an  en- 
tirely new  activity  should  be  developed  within  him,  and 
his  will  cannot  exercise  authority  over  an  inclination, 
which  is  only  imparted  to  it  by  his  existence.  In  order 
to  conduct  the  aesthetic  man  to  insight  and  lofty  senti- 
ment, we  only  need  present  to  him  forcible  incentives  ; 
but  to  obtain  the  same  from  the  sensuous  man,  we 
must  first  change  his  nature.  To  make  the  former  a 
hero  or  a  philosopher,  often  nothing  is  needed  but  the 
demands  of  an  elevated  situation,  (which  most  inti- 
mately affects  the  volition)  ;  but,  for  a  similar  result, 
we  must  first  transplant  the  latter  beneath  another  sky. 

Then  the  most  important  task  of  culture,  consists  in 
subjecting  man  to  form  while  yet  in  his  pure  physical 
life,  and  in  making  him  aesthetical,  so  far  only  as  the 
realm  of  Beauty  can  ever  extend  —  since  the  moral 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


Ill 


condition  can  unfold  itself  only  from  the  aesthetical, 
and  not  from  the  physical  condition.  If  man  would 
possess  the  ability  in  every  single  case,  to  make  his 
judgment  and  his  will  the  judgment  of  the  race,  to  find 
the  passage  to  an  infinite  from  every  limited  existence, 
to  rise  from  every  condition  of  dependence  to  freedom 
and  independence,  he  must  beware  that  he  is  at  no 
moment  a  mere  individual,  serving  only  the  laws  of 
nature.  Should  he  be  capable  and  ready  to  soar  from 
the  narrow  sphere  of  nature's  aims  to  those  of  reason, 
he  must  have  already  trained  himself  within  the  first 
for  the  last,  and  have  prosecuted  his  physical  determi- 
nateness  with  a  certain  spiritual  freedom  —  that  is, 
according  to  the  laws  of  Beauty. 

And  indeed  he  can  accomplish  this  without  contra- 
dicting in  the  least  his  physical  aim.  The  demands  of 
his  nature  only  extend  to  that  which  he  works,  to  the 
contents  of  his  action  ;  the  design  of  nature  determines 
nothing  concerning  the  manner  of  his  action,  or  its 
form.  The  demands  of  reason,  on  the  contrary,  are 
strongly  directed  to  the  form  of  his  activity.  Then, 
however  necessary  it  is  for  his  moral  determinateness, 
that  he  should  be  purely  moral,  that  he  should  evince 
an  absolute  self-activity,  it  is  of  little  consequence  for 
his  physical  determinateness,  whether  or  not  he  is 
purely  physical,  whether  he  maintains  a  state  of  abso- 
lute passivity.  With  respect  then  to  the  latter,  it  is 
entirely  at  his  option,  whether  he  will  prosecute  it 
merely  as  a  sensuous  being,  and  as  a  power  of  nature, 
(as  a  power,  namely,  which  only  acts  according  as  it 


112 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


is  acted  upon),  or  whether  at  the  same  time  as  abso- 
lute power,  as  a  rational  being;  and  there  need  be  no 
question  which  of  the  two  is  more  conformable  to  his 
dignity.  But  rather,  as  much  as  it  humbles  and  de- 
bases him,  to  do  that  from  sensuous  motives,  which  he 
should  have  imposed  upon  himself  from  pure  motives  of 
duty,  so  much  does  it  honor  and  ennoble  him  to  strive 
after  conformity,  harmony  and  boundlessness,  where 
the  common  man  only  stifles  a  lawful  inclination.1  In 

1  This  spiritual  and  resthetical  free  treatment  of  common  reality, 
wherever  it  is  to  be  met  with,  is  the  token  of  a  noble  soul.  Gene- 
rally we  call  a  mind  noble,  which  possesses  the  gift  of  trans- 
forming- the  most  limited  occupation,  and  the  most  trifling  object  into 
an  infinite  one,  by  its  method  of  treatment.  We  call  that  form  noble, 
which  impresses  the  seal  of  self-dependence  upon  that  which  natu- 
rally only  subserves  (is  merely  a  means).  A  noble  spirit  is  not  satis- 
fied with  being  free  itself;  it  would  place  all  other  things  around  it, 
even  the  inanimate,  in  freedom.  But  Beauty  is  the  only  possible  ex- 
pression of  freedom  in  actual  life.  The  predominant  expression  of 
intellect  in  a  face,  a  work  of  art,  and  the  like,  —  can  never  acquire 
the  character  of  nobility,  neither  is  it  ever  beautiful,  since,  instead  of 
concealing,  it  makes  conspicuous,  the  dependence,  which  is  con- 
founded with  conformity  to  a  design. 

It  is  true,  the  moral  philosopher  teaches  us,  that  one  can  never  do 
more  than  his  duty ;  and  he  is  perfectly  right,  if  he  means  only  the 
relation  which  actions  have  to  moral  law.  But  it  is  said  of  actions, 
which,  relating  merely  to  a  design,  yet  pass  out  beyond  this  design 
into  the  super-sensuous,  (which  here  can  be  called  nothing  else  than 
carrying  out  the  physical  aesthetically)  that  they  exceed  duty,  while 
the  latter  can  only  prescribe  the  inviolability  of  the  will,  but  not  the 
previous  inviolability  of  nature.  So  that  indeed  there  is  no  moral, 
but  there  is  an  aesthetical,  excess  of  duty,  and  such  a  deportment  is 
called  noble.  But,  because  an  overplus  is  always  perceptible  in  him 
who  is  noble, —  which  possesses  too  a  free,  formal  value,  when  it 
need  only  have  a  material  value,  or  which  unites  to  an  internal  value 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


113 


a  word  —  perception  should  have  nothing  to  define  in 
the  province  of  truth  and  morality ;  but  form  and  the 
play-impulse  should  exist  and  govern  in  the  sphere  of 
felicity. 

Already  here,  then,  in  the  neutral  field  of  physical 
life,  must  man  commence  his  moral  being  ;  while  yet 
in  his  passivity  he  must  begin  his  self-activity  —  and 
while  still  within  his  sensuous  restrictions  he  must 
commence  his  intellectual  freedom.  Already  he  must 
impose  the  law  of  his  will  upon  his  inclinations;  he 
must,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  play  the  bat- 
tle against  matter  within  its  own  borders,  that  he  may 
be  spared  from  resisting  the  fearful  foe  on  the  holy  soil 
of  freedom  ;  he  must  learn  to  desire  nobly,  that  he  may 
not  be  forced  to  will  loftily.    This  is  accomplished  by 

which  it  ought  to  have,  also  an  external  value  which  it  might  dis- 
pense with,  —  many  have  confounded  sesthetical  with  moral  over- 
plus —  and,  seduced  by  the  appearance  of  what  is  noble,  have  intro- 
duced a  caprice  and  chance  into  morality  itself,  whereby  it  would  be- 
come entirely  abolished. 

A  noble  deportment  is  to  be  distinguished  from  an  elevated  one. 
The  former  is  the  result  of  moral  obligation,  but  not  so  the  latter, 
although  we  respect  it  unduly  higher  than  the  former.  But  we  do 
not  respect  it  because  it  exceeds  the  rational  idea  of  its  Object,  (the 
moral  law),  but  the  actual  idea  of  its  Subject,  (our  knowledge  of 
the  quality  and  vigor  of  human  will)  ;  so  inversely  we  do  not  value 
noble  deportment,  because  it  transgresses  the  nature  of  the  Subject, 
from  which  it  rather  must  result  entirely  unconstrained,  but  because 
it  passes  beyond  the  nature  of  its  Object,  (the  physical  design)  into 
the  super-sensuous.  In  the  one  case,  it  may  be  said,  we  are  aston- 
ished at  the  victory  which  the  object  obtains  over  man  ;  in  the  other, 
we  wonder  at  the  scope  which  man  gives  to  the  object. 

8 


114 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE, 


aesthetic  culture,  which  subjects  all  that  in  which 
human  caprice  is  unconstrained  by  the  laws  of  Nature, 
or  the  laws  of  Beauty  by  those  of  reason,  —  and 
which  already  reveals  the  internal,  in  the  form  which 
it  gives  to  the  external,  life. 


TWENTY-FOURTH  LETTER. 


There  may  be  distinguished  three  different  mo- 
ments or  epochs  of  development,  through  which  the 
single  man  as  well  as  the  whole  race  must  pass  neces- 
sarily and  in  a  prescribed  order,  if  they  would  complete 
the  whole  circle  of  their  destiny.  It  is  true,  the  single 
periods  can  now  be  protracted,  now  abridged,  through 
accidental  causes,  which  lie  either  in  the  influence  of 
external  things  or  in  man's  free  caprice,  but  none  can 
be  entirely  omitted  ;  and  the  order  too  in  which  they 
follow  each  other,  can  neither  be  inverted  by  nature 
or  the  will.  Man  in  his  physical  condition,  endures 
only  the  force  of  nature ;  he  frees  himself  from  this 
force  in  the  cesthetical,  and  governs  it  in  the  moral, 
condition. 

What  is  man,  before  Beauty  steals  from  him  his  free 
enjoyment,  and  tranquil  form  tempers  his  savage  life  1 
Is  he  not  ever  uniform  in  his  designs,  ever  vacillating 
in  his  decisions,  selfish,  without  being  yet  himself,  un- 
restrained, without  being  free,  a  slave  without  sub- 
serving a  principle  ?  In  this  epoch  the  world  is  merely 
fate  to  him,  but  no  object ;  all  has  an  existence  for 
him,  only  so  far  as  it  makes  him  to  exist: — what 
neither  gives  nor  takes,  is  to  him  non-extant.  Every 
phenomenon  stands  before  him,  single  and  isolated, 


116 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


as  he  finds  himself  in  the  scale  of  being.  All  that  is, 
is  to  him  only  through  the  emphasis  of  the  moment ; 
each  change  is  to  him  a  fresh  creation,  since,  through 
failure  of  the  Necessary  within,  he  wants  that  external 
necessity,  which  gathers  all  mutable  shapes  into  one 
universe,  and  retains  eternal  law  upon  the  stage,  while 
the  individual  melts  away.  In  vain  does  nature  dis- 
play her  rich  manifoldness  before  his  senses ;  in  her 
majestic  fulness  he  sees  only  his  booty,  in  her  power 
and  greatness  only  his  foe.  He  either  throws  himself 
upon  the  outward,  invading  it  with  wild  desire,  or  the 
outward  presses  ruinously  upon  him,  and  is  thrust  back 
with  aversion.  In  both  cases  direct  contact  is  his  re- 
lation to  the  world  of  sense,  and  being  for  ever  dis- 
turbed by  its  pressure,  unceasingly  distressed  by  impe- 
rious need,  he  finds  rest  nowhere  but  in  exhaustion, 
and  no  limits  but  in  sated  desire. 

His  truly  are  the  Titan's  mighty  heart 
And  forceful  life  —  a  heritage  assured  ; 
Yet  God  has  forged  a  brazen  ring  around 
His  brow,  and  hidden  from  his  gloomy  eye 
Patience  and  wisdom,  counsel  and  restraint. 
Each  passion  swells  to  madness,  and  unchecked 
His  madness  rages.1 

Unacquainted  with  Ms  own  human  dignity,  he  is  far 
from  revering  it  in  others,  and  conscious  of  his  own 
wild  passion,  he  fears  it  in  every  creature  that  resem- 
bles him.    He  never  beholds  others  in  himself,  but 


1  Altered  from  Goethe's  "  Iphigenie  auf  Tauris."   A.  I.  Sc.  iii. 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


117 


only  himself  in  others  ;  and  society,  instead  of  ex- 
panding him  to  a  genus,  only  confines  him  more  and 
more  closely  to  his  individuality.  Thus  unworthily 
restricted,  he  wanders  through  his  starless  life,  till  an 
auspicious  nature  tosses  the  dull  load  of  matter  from 
his  beclouded  senses,  till  reflection  distinguishes  him- 
self from,  things,  and  objects  at  last  manifest  them- 
selves in  his  reflected  consciousness. 

This  condition  of  rude  nature  as  here  portrayed,  is 
certainly  not  referrible  to  any  particular  age  or  nation  ; 
it  is  a  mere  idea,  but  one  which  in  single  features  co- 
incides most  strictly  with  experience.  We  may  say 
that  man  was  never  in  a  condition  so  utterly  brutal, 
but  he  has  never  entirely  avoided  it.  We  find  even  in 
the  rudest  subjects  scarcely  discernible  traces  of  ra- 
tional freedom,  just  as  moments  are  not  wanting  in  the 
most  cultivated,  which  remind  us  of  that  gloomy  state 
of  nature.  It  is  in  fact  peculiar  to  man,  to  combine 
the  highest  and  the  lowest  in  his  nature,  and  if  his 
dignity  depends  upon  a  rigid  distinction  of  the  one 
from  the  other,  his  happiness  depends  upon  an  apt  re- 
moval of  this  distinction.  Culture,  which  ought  to  har- 
monize his  dignity  with  his  happiness,  must  then  take 
care  to  preserve  the  highest  purity  of  these  two  princi- 
ples in  their  most  intimate  union. 

Therefore  the  first  appearance  of  reason  in  man,  is 
not  also  the  commencement  of  his  humanity.  That  is 
first  determined  by  his  freedom,  and  the  reason  first 
begins  by  removing  the  limits  to  his  sensuous  depend- 
ence ;  a  phenomenon  which  does  not  yet  appear  to  me  to 


118 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


be  unfolded  according  to  its  importance  and  universal- 
ity. The  reason,  we  know,  makes  itself  recognized  in 
man  by  the  demand  of  the  absolute,  (the  self-grounded 
and  necessary),  which,  as  it  cannot  be  satisfied  in  any 
single  condition  of  his  physical  life,  is  compelled  ut- 
terly to  leave  to  him  the  physical,  and  to  ascend  from 
restricted  reality  to  ideas.  But  although  the  real  in- 
tention of  that  demand  is,  to  free  him  from  the  fetters 
of  time  and  elevate  him  from  a  sensuous  to  an  ideal 
world,  yet  through  a  misconception,  (hardly  avoidable 
in  this  epoch  of  prevailing  sensuousness),  it  may  direct 
itself  toward  the  physical  life,  and,  instead  of  making 
man  independent,  plunge  him  in  the  most  fearful 
bondage. 

And  this  in  fact  takes  place.  Man  deserts  the  nar- 
row limits  of  the  present,  in  which  mere  animality  had 
enclosed  him,  upon  the  wings  of  imagination,  with  as- 
pirations after  a  boundless  future ;  but  while  the  infi- 
nite dawns  upon  his  dazzled  imagination,  his  heart  has 
not  yet  ceased  to  live  in  the  partial,  and  to  serve  the 
present  moment.  The  desire  for  the  absolute  sur- 
prises him  in  the  midst  of  his  animality — and  since  all 
his  endeavors  in  this  miserable  condition  tend  only  to- 
wards the  material  and  finite,  and  are  restricted  only 
to  his  individual  being,  he  is  only  induced  by  this  de- 
mand, to  give  his  individuality  a  boundless  extension, 
instead  of  abandoning  it  —  to  strive  after  an  exhaust- 
less  substance  instead  of  form  —  after  an  ever  during 
mutation  instead  of  the  immutable,  and  after  an  abso- 
lute establishment  of  his  finite  being.    The  same  im- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


119 


pulse  which  inclines  him  to  thought  and  action,  which 
ought  to  lead  to  truth  and  morality,  now  brings,  when 
related  to  his  passivity  and  perception,  nothing  but  a 
boundless  longing,  an  absolute  need.  The  first  fruits 
then,  which  he  earns  in  the  spirit-world  are  care  and 
fear  ;  both  being  operations  of  reason,  not  of  sensuous- 
ness,  —  but  of  a  reason  which  mistakes  its  object,  and 
applies  its  Imperative  immediately  to  substance.  All 
unconditioned  systems  of  happiness  are  fruits  of  this 
tree  —  they  may  have  for  their  object  the  present  day 
or  a  whole  life,  or,  what  makes  them  no  more  respect- 
able, a  whole  eternity.  A  boundless  duration  of  exist- 
ence and  well-being,  merely  for  the  sake  of  existence 
and  well-being,  is  only  an  ideal  of  desire  —  conse- 
quently a  demand  which  can  only  be  started  by  an  ani- 
mality  striving  after  the  absolute.  Without  then  gain- 
ing anything  for  his  humanity  by  such  a  manifestation 
of  reason,  one  loses  thereby  only  the  happy  confine- 
ment of  the  animal ;  instead  of  which  he  merely  pos- 
sesses the  unenviable  advantage,  of  missing  the  posses- 
sion of  the  present  in  his  aspiration  for  the  distant,  and 
yet  without  seeking  in  the  whole  boundless  distance 
anything  but  the  present. 

But  even  if  the  reason  should  not  mistake  its  object, 
nor  err  in  its  interrogation,  yet  sensuousness  for  a  long 
time  would  falsify  the  answer.  As  soon  as  man  has 
begun  to  use  his  intellect,  and  to  combine  the  actual 
modes  around  him,  according  to  cause  and  design,  the 
reason,  conformably  to  its  ideas,  insists  upon  an  absolute 
combination  and  an  unconditioned  cause.    Man  must 


120 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


have  already  transgressed  his  sensuousness,  before  he 
can  only  raise  such  a  demand  ;  but  this  very  demand 
has  the  effect  to  bring  back  the  wanderer.  Here  then 
would  be  the  point,  where  he  must  entirely  desert  the 
world  of  sense,  and  soar  to  the  realm  of  pure  idea ;  for 
the  intellect  remains  forever  stationary  within  the  con- 
ditioned, forever  interrogating,  without  arriving  at  a 
result.  But  as  the  man,  of  whom  we  speak  here,  is 
not  yet  capable  of  such  an  abstraction,  whatever  he 
does  not  find  in  his  sensuous  cognitive  sphere,  or  does 
not  yet  seek  above  that  in  the  sphere  of  pure  reason,  he 
will  seek  and  to  all  appearance  find  beneath  that,  within 
his  sphere  of  feeling.  Sensuousness  indeed  shows  him 
nothing,  which  might  be  its  own  cause,  or  give  law  to 
itself,  but  it  shows  him  something,  which  knows  of  no 
cause  and  respects  no  law.  As  then  he  can  bring  the 
interrogating  intellect  to  repose  through  no  final  and 
interior  cause,  he  brings  it  at  least  to  silence  through 
the  idea  of  causelessness  ;  and  he  remains  stationary 
within  the  blind  necessitation  of  matter,  as  he  cannot 
yet  comprehend  the  elevated  necessity  of  reason.  Since 
sensuousness  knows  no  other  aim  than  its  own  interest, 
and  feels  impelled  to  it  by  no  other  cause  than  blind 
chance,  it  makes  the  former  the  determinator  of  its 
actions,  and  the  latter  the  ruler  of  the  world. 

Even  moral  law  itself,  the  holy  in  man,  cannot,  at  its 
first  appearance  in  the  sensuous  world,  escape  this  cor- 
ruption. As  it  is  only  prohibitory,  and  declares  against 
the  interest  of  his  sensuous  self-love,  it  must  seem  to 
him  —  so  long  as  there  is  anything  foreign,  to  which 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


121 


he  has  not  attained  —  to  regard  that  self-love  as  that 
which  is  foreign,  and  the  voice  of  reason  as  his  true 
self.  He  is  then  sensible  only  of  the  fetters  which  that 
voice  imposes  upon  him,  not  of  the  infinite  freedom 
which  it  creates  for  him.  Without  respecting  in  him- 
self the  dignity  of  a  legislator,  he  is  only  sensible  cf 
the  constraint  and  the  powerless  resistance  of  a  subject. 
Since  the  sensuous  precedes  the  moral  impulse  in  his 
experience,  he  gives  to  the  law  of  necessity  a  beginning 
in  time,  a  positive  origin  ;  and  makes,  by  the  most  un- 
happy of  all  errors,  the  unchangeable  and  eternal  in 
himself  an  accident  of  the  finite.  He  persuades  him- 
self to  regard  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  as  statutes, 
emanating  from  a  will,  and  not  valid  in  themselves  and 
to  all  eternity.  As  he  transgresses  nature  in  the  ex- 
planation of  single  natural  phenomena,  and  seeks  with- 
out her,  for  that  which  can  only  be  found  in  her  inmost 
conformableness,  even  so  he  transgresses  reason  in  the 
explanation  of  moral  phenomena,  and,  while  seeking  in 
this  path  a  divinity,  sacrifices  his  humanity.  No  won- 
der, if  a  religion  which  is  bought  by  a  rejection  of  his 
humanity,  should  prove  worthy  of  such  an  origin,  or  if  he 
should  not  consider  absolute  nor  binding  to  all  eternity, 
the  laws  which  he  did  not  hold  binding  from  all  eter- 
nity. He  has  to  do,  not  with  a  holy,  but  only  with  a 
powerful,  being.  The  spirit  of  his  worship  then  is  fear, 
which  debases  him,  and  not  reverence,  which  would 
elevate  him  in  his  own  estimation. 

Although  these  manifold  deviations  of  man  from  the 
ideal  of  his  destiny  cannot  exist  in  the  same  epoch,  while 


122 


./ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


he  is  traversing  many  grades  from  voidness  of  reflec- 
tion to  error,  from  a  lack  of  will  to  a  perversity  of  will, 
yet  all  these  are  proper*  results  of  the  physical  condi- 
tion, because  in  all  men  the  life-impulse  plays  the  mas- 
ter over  the  form-impulse.  But  suppose  that  the  reason 
has  not  yet  declared  itself  in  man,  and  that  the  physi- 
cal still  sways  him  with  blind  necessity,  or  that  the 
reason  has  not  yet  sufficiently  rid  itself  of  the  senses, 
and  that  the  moral  yet  serves  the  physical ;  —  in  both 
cases  the  only  ruling  principle  within  him  is  a  mate- 
rial one,  and  the  man,  at  least  according  to  his  last 
tendency,  is  a  sensuous  being  —  with  this  only  differ- 
ence, that  in  the  first  case  he  is  an  irrational,  in  the 
second  a  rational,  animal.  But  he  should  be  neither, 
he  should  be  man.  Nature  should  not  govern  him  ex- 
clusively, nor  the  reason  conditionally.  The  legisla- 
tion of  both  should  subsist  in  a  perfect  independence 
of  the  other,  and  yet  in  perfect  harmony. 


TWENTY-FIFTH  LETTER. 


So  long  as  man  in  his  first  physical  condition,  is 
only  passively  receptive  of  the  world  of  sense,  only  per- 
ceives, he  is  still  completely  one  with  it ;  and  there  is 
no  world  for  him,  because  he  himself  is  only  world. 
If,  in  his  aesthetical  state,  he  places  or  contemplates  it 
beyond  himself,  his  personality  is  for  the  first  time  dis- 
tinct, and  there  appears  to  him  a  world,  because  he  has 
ceased  to  identify  himself  with  it.1 

Contemplation  (reflection)  is  the  first  unconstrained 
relation  of  man  to  the  universe  which  surrounds  him. 
While  desire  directly  embraces  its  object,  reflection  re- 
moves its  own  to  a  distance,  and  by  thus  anticipating 
the  passions,  secures  it  for  a  true  and  inalienable  pos- 
session.   The  necessity  of  nature,  which  governed  him 

1  I  have  previously  remarked,  that  both  these  periods  are  indeed 
necessarily  distinct  in  idea,  but  are  more  or  less  mingled  in  experi- 
ence. And  we  must  not  imagine,  that  any  time  has  occurred  when 
man  found  himself  only  in  this  physical  condition,  or  a  time  when 
he  had  entirely  freed  himself  from  it.  As  soon  as  man  sees  an  object, 
he  is  no  longer  in  a  condition  merely  physical,  and  so  long  as  he  will 
continue  to  see  an  object,  he  will  not  entirely  escape  a  physical  state, 
since  his  seeing  only  depends  upon  his  perception.  Those  three  mo- 
ments which  I  mentioned  in  the  commencement  of  the  twenty-fourth 
letter,  are  then,  it  is  true,  three  different  epochs  for  the  development 
of  entire  humanity,  but  they  are  to  be  distinguished  in  every  single  per- 
ception of  an  object,  and  in  a  word,  are  the  necessary  conditions  of 
that  knowledge  which  we  obtain  through  the  senses. 


124 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


with  absolute  power  in  a  merely  perceptive  condition, 
is  displaced  by  reflection  —  an  instantaneous  calm  en- 
sues in  the  senses ;  time  itself,  the  ever  changing,  is 
stationary,  while  the  scattered  rays  of  consciousness  are 
gathered,  and  Form,  an  image  of  the  infinite,  is  reflect- 
ed from  the  mirror  of  the  finite.  As  soon  as  it  be- 
comes light  in  man,  all  outward  darkness  vanishes;  as 
soon  as  inward  calm  possesses  him,  the  storm  in  the 
universe  abates,  and  the  conflicting  powers  of  nature 
find  rest  within  permanent  limits.  No  wonder  then, 
that  the  primitive  poets  spoke  of  this  great  occurrence 
in  the  inward  life,  as  of  a  revolution  in  the  outward 
world,  and  represented  Thought,  which  subdues  the  de- 
crees of  Time,  under  the  sensuous  image  of  Jupiter, 
terminating  the  reign  of  Saturn. 

From  being  a  slave  of  nature,  while  he  only  perceives 
it,  man  becomes  its  lawgiver,  as  soon  as  he  reflects 
upon  it.  Nature  which  formerly  ruled  him  only  as 
force,  now  stands  before  him  as  object.  What  is  ob- 
ject to  him,  has  no  power  over  him,  since  in  order  to 
become  object,  it  must  experience  his  own  (power). 
So  far  and  so  long  as  he  gives  form  to  matter,  he  is 
impassive  to  its  operations  ;  because  spirit  can  sustain 
injury  only  from  that  which  takes  away  its  freedom,  — 
and  he  establishes  his  own  freedom  while  fashioning  the 
formless.  Fear  has  its  seat,  only  where  the  mass  pre- 
vails, all  rude  and  shapeless,  its  dim  outlines  wavering 
between  insecure  limits  ;  man  is  superior  to  every  chi- 
mera of  nature,  as  soon  as  he  can  give  it  form  and  con- 
vert it  into  his  object.    As  he  begins  to  maintain  his 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


125 


independence  against  nature  as  phenomenal,  he  also 
maintains  his  dignity  against  nature  as  a  force,  and 
rises  with  noble  freedom  against  its  deities.  They  cast 
aside  the  spectre-masks,  which  had  frightened  his 
childhood,  and  in  representing  his  conceptions,  sur- 
prise him  with  his  own  image.  The  divine  prodigy  of 
the  oriental,  which  blindly  ruled  the  world  with  brute 
force,  is  fused  beneath  the  Grecian  fancy  into  the 
friendly  contour  of  humanity,  the  empire  of  the  Titans 
falls,  and  infinite  power  is  tamed  by  infinite  form. 

But  while  I  only  sought  an  outlet  from  the  material 
world  and  an  entrance  into  the  spiritual,  the  course  of 
my  imagination  has  already  led  me  within  the  latter. 
Beauty,  which  we  seek,  lies  already  behind  us,  and  we 
have  overleaped  it,  in  passing  directly  from  mere  life  to 
the  pure  shape  and  the  pure  object.  Such  a  feat  is  not 
in  the  power  of  human  nature,  to  keep  pace  with 
which,  we  must  return  again  to  the  world  of  sense. 

Beauty  is  entirely  the  work  of  free  contemplation, 
and  we  advance  with  it  into  the  world  of  idea,  —  but, 
what  is  worthy  of  notice,  without  thereby  leaving  the 
sensuous  world,  as  is  the  case  in  the  recognition  of 
truth.  The  latter  is  the  pure  precipitate  of  all  that  is 
material  and  accidental  —  pure  object,  having  laid 
aside  all  subjective  limits,  and  pure  self-activity  un- 
mixed with  passivity.  It  is  true,  there  is  a  return  to 
sensuousness  from  the  highest  abstraction,  for  thought 
affects  the  inward  perception,  and  the  conception  of 
logical  and  moral  unity  results  in  a  feeling  of  sensuous 
agreement.    But  when  we  are  pleased  with  cognitions, 


126 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


we  distinguish  strictly  our  conception  from  our  percep- 
tion, and  regard  the  latter  as  something  contingent, 
which  might  well  be  omitted,  without  our  cognition 
ceasing,  or  truth  not  becoming  truth.  But  it  would  be 
an  utterly  fruitless  attempt,  to  wish  to  separate  this  re- 
lation to  the  perceptive  faculty  from  the  conception  of 
Beauty  ;  for  it  is  not  sufficient  to  that  purpose,  to  con- 
sider one  as  the  effect  of  the  other,  but  we  must  regard 
them  both  mutually  and  at  the  same  time  as  effect  and 
as  cause.  In  our  satisfaction  at  cognitions  we  distin- 
guish without  trouble  the  passage  from  activity  to  p  as- 
sivity,  and  actually  observe  that  the  first  is  over,  when 
the  latter  appears.  On  the  contrary,  in  our  delight  at 
Beauty  no  such  succession  between  activity  and  pas- 
sivity can  be  distinguished,  and  reflection  is  here  so 
thoroughly  blended  with  feeling,  that  we  think  the  form 
is  directly  perceivable.  Beauty  then  is  indeed  object 
for  us,  since  reflection  is  the  condition  by  which  we 
perceive  it ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  a  condition  of 
our  subject,  because  feeling  is  the  condition  by  which 
we  have  a  conception  of  it.  Then  it  is  form  indeed, 
since  we  contemplate  it,  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  life, 
since  we  feel  it.  In  a  word,  it  is  at  the  same  time  our 
condition  and  our  act. 

And  because  it  is  both  at  the  same  time,  it  affords  us 
a  triumphant  proof,  that  passivity  by  no  means  excludes 
activity,  or  matter  form,  or  the  limited  the  infinite,  — 
that  consequently  the  moral  freedom  of  man  is  by  no 
means  abolished  by  his  necessary  physical  dependence. 
It  proves  this,  and  I  may  add,  it  alone  can  prove  it  to 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


127 


us.  Since  perception  is  not  necessarily  one  with  re- 
flection, in  the  enjoyment  of  truth  or  of  logical  unity, 
but  conditionally  follows  upon  it,  so  it  can  only  prove 
to  us,  that  a  sensuous  may  follow  upon  a  rational  na- 
ture, and  inversely,  —  not  that  both  may  exist  together 
—  not  that  they  influence  each  other  reciprocally  — 
not  that  they  are  absolutely  and  necessarily  to  be  com- 
bined. On  the  contrary  we  must  rather  infer  from  this 
exclusion  of  feeling,  and  perceive  from  that  exclusion 
of  thought,  that  it  results  from  an  incompatibility  in 
both  their  natures,  that  is,  so  long  as  the  analyst  can 
really  adduce  no  better  proof  for  the  deduction  of  pure 
reason  in  humanity,  than  that  it  is  so  ordained.  But 
since  now  an  actual  association  and  interchange  of  mat- 
ter with  form,  and  of  passivity  with  activity,  precedes 
enjoyment  of  Beauty  or  of  asthctic  unity,  it  follows  that 
we  demonstrate  thereby  the  compatibility  of  both  na- 
tures, the  practicability  of  the  infinite  in  the  finite  — 
consequently,  the  possibility  of  the  noblest  humanity. 

Then  we  need  be  no  longer  embarrassed  to  find  a 
passage  from  sensuous  dependence  to  moral  freedom, 
when  it  occurs,  by  means  of  Beauty,  that  the  latter  may 
perfectly  consist  with  the  former,  and  man,  to  manifest 
himself  as  spirit,  need  not  shun  matter.  But  if  he  is 
already  free  in  communion  with  sensuousness,  as  the 
fact  of  Beauty  teaches,  and  if  freedom  is  something  ab" 
solute  and  supersensuous,  qualities  that  necessarily  ac- 
company its  idea  —  then  there  can  be  no  longer  a  ques- 
tion, how  he  may  succeed  in  elevating  himself  from  the 
^  limited  to  the  absolute,  in  opposing  to  sensuousness  his 


# 


123 


./ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


reflection  and  volition,  since  it  has  already  been  brought 
to  pass  through  Beauty.  In  a  word,  we  need  no  longer 
ask,  how  he  passes  from  Beauty  to  truth,  because  the 
ability  to  do  so  already  exists  in  the  former  —  but,  how 
he  may  construct  a  passage  from  a  common  to  an  aes- 
thetic reality,  —  from  a  sense  of  mere  life  to  a  sense  of 
Beauty. 


TWENTY-SIXTH  LETTER. 


As  the  aesthetic  inclination  of  the  mind,  as  I  have 
explained  in  the  preceding  letters,  gives  the  first  im- 
pulse to  freedom,  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  it  cannot  re- 
sult from  freedom,  and  consequently  can  have  no  moral 
origin.  It  must  be  a  gift  of  nature ;  favoring  accident 
alone  can  loose  the  bonds  of  the  physical  condition, 
and  lead  the  savage  to  the  shrine  of  Beauty. 

The  germ  of  Beauty  will  unfold,  as  little  where  a 
penurious  nature  robs  man  of  every  solace,  as  where  a 
prodigal  one  releases  him  from  every  proper  exertion 
—  as  little  where  dull  sensuousness  feels  no  want,  as 
where  violent  desire  finds  no  satiety.  The  tender  bud 
will  lovingly  expand,  not  where  man  the  troglodyte 
immures  himself  in  caverns,  forever  single,  and  never 
finding  humanity  beyond  himself,  nor  where  man  the 
nomad  roves  in  caravans,  forever  plural,  and  never 
finding  humanity  within  himself —  but  there  only,  where 
he  communes  with  himself  in  his  own  dwelling,  and 
when  he  issues  from  it,  speaks  in  sympathy  with  the 
whole  race.  Where  a  genial  climate  prepares  the 
senses  for  every  tender  emotion,  and  invigorating 
warmth  inspires  exuberant  matter  —  where  the  reign 
of  blind  substance  in  the  lifeless  creation  is  already 
overthrown,  and  triumphant  form  ennobles  even  the 
basest  natures,  —  in  those  fortunate  circumstances  and 
9 


130 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


in  that  favored  zone,  where  only  activity  leads  to  plea- 
sure, and  only  pleasure  to  activity,  where  heavenly  or- 
der flows  out  of  life  itself,  and  only  life  unfolds  itself 
from  the  law  of  order,  where  the  imagination  forever 
shuns  reality,  and  yet  is  never  untrue  to  the  simplicity 
of  nature,  —  there  alone  will  sense  and  spirit,  percep- 
tive and  creative  power,  display  themselves  in  that 
happy  equality,  which  is  the  soul  of  Beauty  and  the 
condition  of  humanity. 

And  what  phenomenon  is  that,  by  which  the  access  of 
the  savage  to  humanity  announces  itself?  So  far  as 
we  consult  history,  we  find  it  the  same  in  all  races,  who 
have  arisen  from  the  slavery  of  the  animal  condition  — 
delight  in  show,  inclination  for  ornament  and  for  play. 

The  greatest  stupidity  and  the  greatest  intelligence 
have  herein  a  certain  affinity  with  each  other,  that  both 
seek  only  the  solid,  and  are  utterly  insensible  to  mere 
show.  The  former  can  be  waked  from  its  repose,  only 
by  the  immediate  sensible  presence  of  an  object,  and 
the  latter  can  be  brought  to  repose,  only  by  tracing 
back  its  ideas  to  the  data  of  experience ;  in  a  word, 
dulness  can  never  lift  itself  above  reality,  and  intellect 
can  never  remain  stationary  beneath  the  truth.  So  far 
then  as  need  of  reality  and  attachment  to  the  actual  are 
results  of  deficiency,  so  far  is  indifference  to  reality  and 
interest  in  show  a  true  enlargement  of  humanity  and  a 
decisive  step  towards  culture.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
a  production  of  an  external  freedom  ;  for  the  imagina- 
tion is  bound  with  tight  fetters  to  the  actual,  so  long  as 
necessity  controls  and  want  is  pressing;  and  it  displays 


/ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


131 


its  unlimited  faculties  only  when  want  is  appeased. 
But  it  is  also  produced  by  an  internal  freedom,  since  it 
reveals  to  us  a  power,  which  is  put  into  motion  by 
itself,  independently  of  an  external  substance,  and 
which  possesses  sufficient  energy  to  repel  the  approaches 
of  matter.  The  reality  of  things  is  the  work  of  things  ; 
the  show  of  things  is  the  work  of  man:  and  a  mind 
that  is  entertained  with  show,  is  no  longer  pleased  by 
that  which  it  receives,  but  by  that  which  it  does. 

It  is  self-evident,  that  we  here  speak  only  of  aesthetic 
show,  which  we  distinguish  from  reality  and  truth,  and 
not  of  logical  show,  which  we  confound  with  them  —  the 
former  of  which  we  consequently  love,  because  it  is 
show,  and  not  because  we  esteem  it  anything  better. 
The  first  only  is  play,  as  the  last  is  merely  deceit.  To 
attach  any  consequence  to  show  of  the  first  kind,  can 
never  injure  truth,  since  we  never  incur  the  risk  of 
substituting  it  for  that  which  is  the  only  method  of  in- 
juring truth  —  namely,  a  contempt  for  all  the  fine  arts 
generally,  whose  existence  depends  upon  show.  Mean- 
while it  sometimes  happens  to  the  intellect,  to  carry  its 
zeal  for  reality  to  just  such  a  pitch  of  intolerance,  and 
to  condemn  all  the  fine  arts  of  show,  because  it  is 
merely  show  ;  but  this  only  happens  when  the  intellect 
recollects  the  above  supposed  affinity.  I  will  take  this 
opportunity  to  speak  particularly  of  the  necessary  lim- 
its of  show  in  the  fine  arts. 

Nature  itself  is  that  which  elevates  man  from  reality 
to  show,  in  providing  him  with  two  senses,  which  con- 
duct him,  only  through  show,  to  a  knowledge  of  the  ac- 


132 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


tual.  Importunate  matter  is  repelled  from  the  senses 
by  the  eye  and  ear,  and  the  object  with  which  we  come 
in  direct  contact  through  the  lower  senses,  is  placed  at 
a  distance.  What  we  see  by  the  eye,  is  different  from 
that  which  we  perceive ;  for  the  intellect  overleaps  the 
medium  (light)  and  apprehends  the  objects.  The  ob- 
ject of  touch  is  a  force,  which  we  suffer ;  the  object  of 
the  eye  and  ear  is  a  form,  which  we  create.  While 
man  is  yet  a  savage,  he  finds  pleasure  only  in  the  sense 
of  feeling,  which,  in  this  period,  the  sense  of  show  only 
subserves.  Either  he  does  not  elevate  himself  to  see- 
ing, or  he  finds  no  satisfaction  in  it.  As  soon  as  he 
begins  to  enjoy  with  the  eye,  and  seeing  acquires  for 
him  a  substantial  value,  he  is  aesthetically  free,  and  the 
play-impulse  has  developed  itself. 

As  soon  as  the  play-impulse  has  become  active, 
which  finds  satisfaction  in  show,  the  imitative  forming 
impulse  ensues,  which  treats  show  as  something  sub- 
stantial. When  man  has  so  far  succeeded,  as  to  dis- 
tinguish show  from  reality,  form  from  body,  he  is  in  a 
condition  to  separate  them  from  himself;  which,  in  dis- 
tinguishing them,  he  has  already  done.  Then  the  abil- 
ity for  imitative  art  is  generally  bestowed  with  the 
ability  to  appreciate  form  ;  the  motive  to  this  depends 
upon  another  tendency,  which  I  need  not  discuss  here. 
Whether  the  aesthetic  art-impulse  should  unfold  itself 
early  or  late,  will  depend  only  upon  the  degree  of  love, 
with  which  man  is  capable  of  contenting  himself  with 
mere  show. 

As  all  actual  existence  is  referrible  to  nature,  as  a 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


133 


foreign  force,  but  all  show  to  man  originally,  as  crea- 
tive subject,  he  exercises  only  his  absolute  right  of 
possession,  when  he  reclaims  show  from  the  actual, 
and  deals  with  it  according  to  his  own  laws.  He  can 
unite  with  unbounded  freedom  what  nature  has  sepa- 
rated, if  it  only  unites  in  his  reflection,  and  can  separate 
what  nature  has  combined,  if  he  can  only  make  the 
distinction  in  his  understanding.  Here  nothing  need 
be  inviolate  to  him,  but  his  own  law  —  if  he  only  re- 
gards the  boundary  line  which  divides  his  province 
from  actual  existence  or  the  laws  of  nature. 

He  exercises  the  human  right  of  sovereignty  in  the 
art  of  show,  and  the  more  strictly  he  there  makes  the 
distinction  of  mine  and  thine,  the  more  carefully  he 
separates  shape  from  actual  existence,  and  the  more 
substantiality  he  knows  how  to  give  it,  so  much  the 
more  will  he  not  only  enlarge  the  sphere  of  Beauty,  but 
preserve  the  limits  of  truth  itself;  for  he  cannot  purify 
show  from  reality,  without  at  the  same  time  making 
reality  independent  of  show. 

But  he  really  possesses  this  sovereign  right  only  in 
the  world  of  shotv,  in  the  unsubstantial  realm  of  the 
imagination,  and  only  so  long  as  he  scrupulously  ab- 
stains theoretically,  from  predicating  Existence  thereon, 
and  so  long  as  he  renounces  practically,  any  attempt  at 
imparting  Existence  thereby.  Hence  you  see,  that  the 
poet  transgresses  his  proper  limits,  equally  when  he  im- 
putes existence  to  his  ideal,  and  when  he  designs 
thereby  a  determinate  existence.  For  he  cannot  ac- 
complish both  any  otherwise  than  either  by  exceed- 


134 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


ing  his  poetic  right,  encroaching  into  province  of  ex- 
perience through  the  ideal,  and  pretending  to  define 
existence  through  the  mere  possibility  of  actual  exist- 
ence, —  or  by  resigning  his  poetic  right,  allowing  ex- 
perience to  encroach  upon  the  province  of  the  ideal, 
and  confining  possible  detenninableness  to  the  condi- 
tions of  reality. 

Show  is  aesthetic,  only  so  far  as  it  is  upright  (posi- 
tively renouncing  all  claims  to  reality),  and  only  so  far 
as  it  is  inch  pendent  (dispensing  with  all  support  of 
reality).  As  soon  as  it  is  false  and  feigns  reality,  and 
as  soon  as  it  is  adulterated,  and  requires  reality  for  its 
operation,  it  is  nothing  but  a  vile  instrument  for  mate- 
rial purposes,  and  can  demonstrate  nothing  for  freedom 
of  the  spirit.  An  restc,  it  is  not  necessary,  that  the 
object  in  which  we  find  the  show  qf  Beauty,  should  be 
destitute  of  reality,  if  only  in  our  judgment  we  have 
no  regard  to  this  reality  ;  for  so  far  as  we  regard  that, 
it  is  not  aBsthetical.  Indeed  an  animate  female  beauty 
will  charm  us  as  well  and  perhaps  a  little  better,  than 
a  mere  picture,  however  beautiful ;  but  in  so  far  as  it 
pleases  us  better  than  the  latter,  it  pleases  us  no  more 
as  independent  show,  it  pleases  no  more  the  pure, 
aesthetic  feeling,  which  the  living  may  please  only  as  an 
actual  mode,  the  actual  only  as  idea  :  but  in  fact  a  dis- 
proportionately higher  degree  of  polite  culture  is  re- 
quired, to  perceive  in  the  living  itself  only  the  pure 
show,  than  to  dispense  with  life  in  the  latter. 

In  whatever  single  man  or  whole  people  we  find  the 
upright  and  independent  show,  there  we  may  infer  the 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


135 


existence  of  spirit  and  taste  and  every  congenial  excel- 
lence, —  there  we  may  see  the  ideal  swaying  the  actual, 
honor  triumphing  over  worldly  possession,  reflection 
over  enjoyment,  and  the  dream  of  immortality  over  ex- 
istence. There  the  public  voice  will  be  the  only  fear- 
ful thing,  and  an  olive-wreath  more  honorable  than  a 
purple  robe.  Only  impotency  and  perversity  take  re- 
fuge in  false  and  needy  show ;  and  single  men  as  well 
as  whole  people,  who  either  "  assist  reality  by  show  or 
(aesthetic)  show  by  reality  " —  both  are  intimately  allied 
—  prove  at  the  same  time  their  moral  worthlessness 
and  their  aesthetic  incapacity. 

To  the  question  then,  "  how  far  may  shoio  exist  in 
the  moral  world"  the  answer  is  both  brief  and  conclu- 
sive, in  so  far  as  it  is  aesthetic  show,  that  is,  show  which 
will  neither  spurn  reality  nor  needs  to  be  spurned  by 
it.  Then  aesthetic  show  can  never  become  dangerous 
to  the  truth  of  morality  ;  and  where  we  find  it  other- 
wise, it  can  be  shown  without  difficulty,  that  the  show 
was  not  aesthetical.  For  example,  none  but  a  stranger 
to  polite  intercourse,  would  regard  the  assurances  of 
civility,  which  is  an  universal  form,  as  tokens  of  personal 
regard,  and  when  deceived,  find  fault  with  the  decep- 
tion. But  only  a  bungler  in  polite  intercourse  would 
call  falsehood  to  his  aid,  in  order  to  be  polite,  and  flat- 
ter, in  order  to  be  agreeable.  A  sense  for  independ- 
ent show  is  wauting  in  the  first,  hence  he  can  only 
give  significance  to  it  by  supposing  it  reality ;  and  re- 
ality is  wanting  to  the  second,  and  he  would  readily 
compensate  it  by  show. 


136 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


Nothing  is  more  common,  than  to  hear  from  certain 
frivolous  critics  of  the  age  the  complaint,  that  all  so- 
lidity has  vanished  from  the  world,  and  that  the  essence 
is  neglected  for  the  show.  Although  I  do  not  feel  my- 
self called  upon,  to  vindicate  the  age  against  this  as- 
persion, it  is  sufficiently  evident  from  the  wide  exten- 
sion which  these  severe  censors  give  to  their  complaint, 
that  they  not  only  blame  the  age  for  the  false,  but  also  for 
the  upright  show  :  anil  even  the  exceptions  which  they 
make  at  any  time  in  favor  of  Beauty,  relate  rather  to 
dependent  than  to  independent  show.  They  not  only 
inveigh  against  the  deceitful  coloring,  which  conceals 
the  truth  and  pretends  to  spurn  reality ;  they  also  wax 
violent  against  the  beneficent  show,  which  fills  vacuity 
and  covers  wretchedness,  and  against  that  ideal,  which 
ennobles  a  common  reality.  A  false  morality  justly 
orfends  their  austere  sense  of  truth ;  only  it  is  a  pity, 
that  they  should  esteem  courtesy  a  part  of  this  falseness. 
They  are  displeased  that  external  glitter  so  often  eclipses 
true  merit,  but  they  are  no  less  chagrined,  that  we  should 
demand  show  from  merit,  and  not  excuse  the  internal  ca- 
pacity from  manifesting  agreeable  form.  They  miss  the 
hearty,  the  substantial  and  the  cordial  of  former  times, 
but  they  might  also  see  restored  the  sharpness  and 
coarseness  of  the  first  manners,  the  ungainliness  of  old 
forms,  and  the  old  gothic  exuberance.  By  criticisms 
of  this  kind  they  evince  a  respect  for  substance  in  itself, 
unworthy  of  a  humanity,  which  rather  should  value 
material  only  so  far  as  it  is  susceptible  of  receiving 
shape  and  of  enlarging  the  realm  of  ideas.    Then  the 


AESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


137 


taste  of  the  century  need  not  lend  a  ready  ear  to  such 
voices,  if  it  only  in  other  respects  stands  before  a  bet- 
ter tribunal.  Not  that  we  impute  a  value  to  aesthetic 
show  (we  have  long  done  this  imperfectly),  but  that  we 
have  not  yet  applied  it  to  pure  show,  that  we  have  not 
sufficiently  distinguished  existence  from  phenomenon, 
thereby  settling  the  boundaries  of  both  forever,  —  this 
it  is,  with  which  a  rigorous  judge  of  Beauty  might  re- 
proach us.  And  this  reprehension  we  shall  deserve, 
so  long  as  we  cannot  enjoy  the  beautiful  in  animated 
nature,  without  coveting  it,  or  admire  the  beautiful  in 
imitative  art,  without  demanding  its  utility —  so  long  as 
we  allow  no  single,  absolute  legislation  to  the  fancy, 
and  direct  it  to  its  own  dignity,  by  the  respect  which 
we  create  for  its  works. 


TWENTY-SEVENTH  LETTER. 


Fear  nothing  for  reality  and  truth,  if  the  lofty  idea 
which  I  have  inculcated  in  the  preceding  letters  upon 
aesthetic  show,  should  become  universal.  It  will  not 
become  so,  so  long  as  man  is  sufficiently  unpolished,  to 
be  able  to  abuse  it ;  and  should  it  become  so,  it  can 
only  be  effected  by  a  culture  which  at  the  same  time 
makes  every  abuse  impossible.  More  power  of  ab- 
straction, more  freedom  of  heart,  more  energy  of  will 
is  demanded  in  striving  for  independent  show,  than  man 
requires  in  restricting  himself  to  reality  ;  and  the  latter 
must  already  lie  behind  him,  if  he  would  press  forward  to 
the  former.  How  badly  then  would  he  calculate,  who 
should  take  the  road  to  the  ideal,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
road  to  the  actual !  Then  we  might  not  have  much 
to  dread  for  reality,  from  show,  as  it  is  here  represent- 
ed ;  but  so  much  the  more  fear  for  show  from  reality. 
Chained  to  the  material,  man  is  all  this  time  only  serv- 
ing his  own  designs,  before  he  allows  to  show  a  special 
personality  in  the  art  of  the  Ideal.  He  requires  for  the 
last  a  total  revolution  in  his  whole  mode  of  perception, 
without  which  he  would  never  find  himself  on  the  icay 
to  the  ideal.  Where  then  we  discover  a  disinterested, 
free  estimation  of  pure  show,  we  can  there  infer  such 
an  inversion  of  his  nature  and  the  proper  commence- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


139 


ment  of  humanity.  But  traces  of  this  kind  are  really 
found  in  the  first  rude  trials  which  he  makes  for  the  re- 
finement of  his  being,  —  made  too  at  the  risk  of  impair- 
ing its  sensuous  capacity.  Generally  as  soon  as  he  be- 
gins to  prefer  shape  to  substance,  and  hazard  reality 
for  show  (but  which  therefore  he  must  recognize),  the 
circle  of  his  animal  being  uncloses,  and  he  finds  him- 
self upon  a  path  that  never  ends. 

Not  content  with  that  only  which  satisfies  nature 
and  meets  the  present  need,  he  desires  a  superfluity  ; 
at  first  indeed  only  a  superfluity  of  substance,  in  order 
to  hide  from  desire  its  true  limits,  and  to  insure  enjoy- 
ment enough  for  the  present  want,  but  soon  a  super- 
fluity in  the  substance,  an  aesthetic  surplus,  in  order  to 
content  also  the  form-impulse,  and  to  extend  enjoy- 
ment to  every  possible  want.  When  only  collecting 
material  for  a  future  use  and  anticipating  this  in  im- 
agination, he  transgresses  indeed  the  present  moment, 
but  without  transgressing  time  ;  he  enjoys  more,  but 
still  no  differently  than  before.  But  while  he  draws 
shape  into  his  enjoyment,  and  at  the  same  time  regards 
the  form  of  objects  which  satisfy  his  desires,  he  has  not 
only  enhanced  his  enjoyment  in  extent  and  degree,  but 
also  ennobled  it  in  hind. 

Indeed,  nature  has  already  yielded  necessity  to  the 
irrational,  and  cast  a  gleam  of  freedom  into  the  gloom 
of  animal  existence.  If  no  hunger  gnaws  the  lion,  and 
no  beast  of  prey  provokes  to  battle,  his  slumbering 
energy  creates  for  itself  an  object ;  he  fills  the  echoing 
waste  with  vehement  roaring,  and  his  exuberant  power 


140 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


satiates  itself  in  an  aimless  effusion.  The  insect  re- 
vels joyously  in  the  sunshine,  and  certainly  it  is  not 
the  note  of  desire  only  which  we  hear  in  the  bird's 
melodious  warbling.  In  these  emotions  there  is  unde- 
niable freedom,  but  not  generally  freedom  from  need, 
only  from  a  definite,  external  need.  The  beast  labors, 
when  a  want  is  the  incitement  to  its  activity,  and  it 
plays,  when  profusion  of  vigor  is  this  incitement,  when 
superfluous  life  is  its  own  stimulus  to  activity.  Even 
in  inanimate  nature,  such  a  luxury  of  power  and  laxity 
of  determinateness  is  manifest,  which  in  that  material 
sense  we  may  properly  call  play.  The  tree  puts  forth 
countless  buds,  which  are  never  developed,  and  extends 
more  roots,  twigs  and  leaves  for  nourishment,  than  are 
demanded  for  its  individual  preservation  or  that  of  its 
species.  Whatever  of  its  prodigal  fulness  it  restores 
unused  and  unenjoyed  to  the  elements,  may  be  lavish- 
ed by  animate  nature  in  joyous  emotion.  Thus  nature 
already  gives  us  in  its  material  kingdom  a  prelude  of 
the  unlimited,  and  removes  there  the  fetters  in  part, 
which  in  the  kingdom  of  Form  it  entirely  throws  aside. 
It  finds  a  passage  to  aesthetic  play  from  the  constraint  of 
need,  or  physical  seriousness,  through  the  constraint  of 
superfluity,  or  physical  play  ;  and  before  it  soars  in  the 
lofty  freedom  of  Beauty  away  from  the  fetters  of  each 
design,  it  approaches  this  state  of  independence,  at 
least  from  afar,  in  the  free  emotion,  which  is  both  end 
and  means. 

The  imagination  of  man,  like  his  corporeal  organs, 
has  also  its  free  emotion  and  its  material  play,  in  which 


^ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


141 


it  merely  enjoys  its  native  power  and  liberty,  without 
any  reference  to  shape.  Yet  so  far  as  this  play  of 
fancy  includes  nothing  of  form,  and  its  whole  attraction 
consists  in  an  unconstrained  flow  of  images,  it  pertains, 
although  peculiar  to  man  alone,  merely  to  his  animal 
life,  and  only  demonstrates  his  immunity  from  every 
external  sensuous  constraint,  without  yet  developing  an 
independent  creative  power.1  The  imagination  in  its 
attempt  at  a  formal  freedom,  makes  at  length  a  leap  to 
aesthetic  play,  from  this  free  play  of  ideas,  which  is  of 
a  kind  entirely  material,  and  is  explained  by  the  sim- 
ple laws  of  nature.  We  must  call  it  a  leap,  since  an 
entirely  new  power  comes  here  into  requisition ;  for 
the  directing  spirit  for  the  first  time  interferes  in  the 
operations  of  a  blind  instinct,  subjects  the  arbitrary  pro- 
cess of  the  imagination  to  its  immutable,  eternal  unity, 
and  infuses  its  self-dependence  into  the  changeable, 

1  Most  of  the  sports  which  are  in  vogue  in  common  life,  depend 
either  entirely  upon  this  feeling  of  the  free  play  of  ideas,  or  derive 
from  it  their  greatest  attraction.  But  however  little  it  evinces  in  it- 
self a  higher  nature,  and  however  readily  the  weakest  souls  are  ac- 
customed to  resign  themselves  to  this  free  current  of  images,  yet  this 
independence  of  the  fancy  of  external  impressions,  is  at  least  the  neg- 
ative condition  for  its  creative  faculty.  The  plastic  art  elevates  it- 
self to  the  ideal,  only  while  tearing  itself  from  reality,  and  the  ima- 
gination must  have  freed  itself  from  foreign  laws,  by  its  reproductive 
process,  before  it  can  act  according  to  its  own  laws,  in  its  productive 
quality.  Indeed  a  still  greater  step  is  to  be  taken  from  mere  lawless- 
ness to  a  self-dependent  internal  conformity,  —  and  an  entirely  new 
power,  the  ability  for  ideas,  must  here  be  brought  into  play  :  but  this 
power  can  now  unfold  itself  with  more  facility,  since  the  senses  do 
not  oppose  it,  and  the  indefinite  borders,  at  least  negatively,  upon  the 
infinite. 


142 


.ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


and  its  infiniteness  into  the  sensuous.  But  so  long  as 
rude  nature,  which  knows  no  other  law  than  restlessly 
to  hasten  from  change  to  change,  is  still  too  powerful, 
it  will  oppose  that  necessity  by  its  unsteady  caprice, 
that  stability  by  its  unrest,  that  self-dependence  by  its 
neediness,  and  that  elevated  simplicity  by  its  insatiety. 
Then  the  aesthetic  play-impulse  will  be  hardly  recog- 
nized in  its  first  attempts,  as  the  sensuous  impulse  in- 
cessantly interposes  with  its  capricious  humor  and  its 
wild  desire.  Hence  we  see  the  uncultivated  taste  em- 
bracing first  the  novel  and  surprising,  the  extravagant, 
wonderful  and  bizarre,  the  vehement  and  wild;  and 
avoiding  nothing  so  much  as  calmness  and  simplicity. 
It  fashions  grotesque  shapes,  delights  in  harsh  transi- 
tions, exuberant  forms,  dazzling  contrasts,  glaring 
lights,  pathetic  tones.  In  this  epoch  it  only  calls  that 
beautiful  which  excites  it,  which  gives  it  substance, — 
but  which  excites  to  a  self-acting  opposition,  and  gives 
it  substance  for  a  possible  image,  for  otherwise  it  would 
not  possess  for  it  the  character  of  Beauty.  Then  a  re- 
markable alteration  takes  place  in  the  form  of  its  de- 
cisions ;  it  seeks  these  objects  not  since  they  give  it 
something  to  endure,  but  something  to  act  upon  ;  they 
please  it  not  because  they  meet  a  want,  but  because 
they  satisfy  a  law  which  speaks,  although  still  gently, 
in  its  bosom. 

Soon  man  is  no  longer  satisfied,  that  things  please 
him ;  he  himself  wishes  to  please,  at  first  indeed  only 
by  that  which  is  his  own,  but  finally  by  that  which  he 
is.    What  he  possesses  or  produces,  need  bear  no 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


143 


longer  the  traces  of  servitude,  the  straightened  form  of 
his  design ;  next  to  the  service  which  it  renders,  it 
must  also  reflect  the  ingenious  intellect  which  con- 
ceived it,  the  ready  hand  which  performed  it,  and  the 
serene  and  free  spirit  which  selected  and  expressed  it. 
Now  the  ancient  German  seeks  for  splendid  skins, 
stately  antlers,  ornamental  drinking  horns;  and  the 
Caledonian  chooses  the  finest  cockles  for  his  feasts. 
Weapons  themselves  need  no  longer  be  mere  objects 
of  terror,  but  of  pleasure  also,  and  the  cunning  shoul- 
der-belt will  be  no  less  noticeable,  than  the  deadly  edge 
of  the  sword.  Not  content  with  introducing  an  ces- 
thetic  surplus  into  the  necessary,  the  play-impulse 
finally  rids  itself  entirely  from  the  fetters  of  exigency, 
and  Beauty  for  her  own  sake  becomes  the  object  of  its 
endeavor.  Man  adorns  himself.  Unconstrained  joy  is 
reckoned  among  his  wants,  and  the  unnecessary  soon 
makes  the  best  part  of  his  pleasures. 

As  form  gradually  approaches  him  from  without,  in 
his  dwelling,  his  furniture,  his  garments,  it  begins  at 
last  to  take  possession  of  himself,  —  at  first  only  trans- 
forming the  outward,  at  last  also  the  inward  man. 
The  unchartered  elasticity  of  joy  resolves  itself  into  the 
dance,  shapeless  gesture  into  a  graceful,  harmonious 
language  of  action  ;  the  chaos  of  sound  unfolds  itself 
to  the  perception,  and  begins  to  obey  time  and  ac- 
knowledge harmony.  The  Trojan  host  stormed  forth 
to  the  battle  field  with  shrill  cries  like  an  army  of 
cranes,  but  the  Greeks  approached  with  a  calm  and 
noble  movement.    There  we  see  only  the  excess  of 


144 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


blind  force,  here  the  triumph  of  form  and  the  simple 
majesty  of  law. 

Now  a  fairer  necessity  knits  the  sexes  together,  and 
sympathy  of  heart  assists  in  preserving  the  alliance, 
which  was  only  begun  by  the  capricious  and  fickle 
moods  of  desire.  Shape,  released  from  its  gloomy  fet- 
ters, is  recognized  by  the  tranquil  eye,  soul  looks  into 
soul,  and  a  generous  interchange  of  inclination  sup- 
plants a  selfish  traffic  in  pleasure.  Desire  enlarges  and 
elevates  itself  to  love,  as  humanity  beams  from  its  ob- 
ject ;  and  a  sordid  advantage  over  sense  is  despised  for 
a  nobler  triumph  over  will.  The  need  of  pleasing  sub- 
jects the  man  of  force  to  the  mild  jurisdiction  of  taste  ; 
he  can  make  booty  of  pleasure,  but  love  must  be  a  gift. 
He  can  only  strive  to  reach  this  loftier  prize  through 
form,  and  not  through  matter.  He  must  cease  to  af- 
fect, as  a  force,  the  feeling,  and  as  phenomenon,  to  op- 
pose the  intellect ;  if  he  would  satisfy  freedom,  he  must 
concede  it.  As  Beauty  nullifies  the  conflict  of  nature 
in  its  simplest  and  purest  example,  in  the  eternal  con- 
trariety of  sex,  so  also  it  nullifies  it  —  or  at  least  tends 
to  do  so  —  in  the  complicated  whole  of  society,  and 
to  reconcile  all  the  gentle  and  the  violent  in  the  moral 
world,  according  to  the  model  of  that  free  union  which 
it  forms  between  manly  power  and  womanly  tenderness. 
Weakness  now  becomes  inviolate,  and  licentious 
strength  is  rebuked  ;  the  generosity  of  knightly  manners 
ameliorates  the  right  of  nature.  The  graceful  blush  of 
modesty  disarms  the  one  whom  no  force  can  terrify, 
and  tears  quench  a  revenge  which  no  blood  could  ap- 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


145 


pease.  Hatred  itself  regards  the  gentle  appeal  of 
honor,  the  sword  of  the  conqueror  spares  a  disarmed 
foe,  and  a  hospitable  hearth  smokes  for  the  stranger,  on 
the  dreaded  shore  where  death  was  once  his  only 
welcome. 

The  aesthetic  formative  impulse  establishes  insensibly 
a  third  joyous  empire  of  play  and  of  show,  between  the 
formidable  realm  of  powers  and  the  sacred  realm  of 
law  —  an  empire  wherein  it  releases  man  from  all  the 
fetters  of  circumstance,  and  frees  him,  both  physically 
and  morally,  from  all  that  can  be  called  constraint. 

If  man,  in  the  dynamical  state  of  right,  meets  man  as 
a  power,  and  circumscribes  his  operations,  or  opposes 
him  in  the  ethical  state  of  duty  with  the  majesty  of 
law,  and  fetters  his  will,  — he  need  only  appear  to  him 
in  the  circle  of  polished  intercourse,  in  the  aesthetic 
state,  as  shape,  only  confront  him  as  an  object  for  the 
free  play-impulse.  To  give  freedom  by  freedom  is  the 
fundamental  law  of  this  empire. 

The  dynamical  state  can  only  make  society  possible, 
while  restraining  nature  by  nature ;  the  ethical  state 
can  only  make  it  (morally)  necessary,  while  subjecting 
the  single  to  the  universal  will ;  the  aesthetic  state 
alone  can  make  it  actual,  since  it  fulfils  the  will  of  the 
whole  through  the  nature  of  the  individual.  If  need 
already  impels  man  to  society,  and  reason  plants  social 
principles  within  him,  yet  Beauty  alone  can  impart  to 
him  a  social  character.  Taste  alone  introduces  har- 
mony into  society,  since  it  establishes  harmony  in  the 
individual.  All  other  representative  forms  mutilate 
10 


146 


ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


man,  since  they  are  founded  either  exclusively  upon 
the  sensuous,  or  upon  the  spiritual  part  of  his  being ; 
only  the  expression  of  Beauty  makes  a  whole  out  of 
him,  since  thereto,  both  his  natures  must  harmonize. 
All  other  forms  of  communication  mutilate  society, 
since  they  relate  either  exclusively  to  the  private  sus- 
ceptibility, or  to  the  dexterity  of  single  members  —  con- 
sequently, to  that  which  is  distinctive  between  man 
and  man ;  only  the  communication  of  Beauty  can  com- 
bine society,  since  it  relates  to  that  which  is  common 
to  all.  We  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  sense  only  as  indi- 
viduals, without  the  participation  of  the  generic  nature 
which  dwells  within  us  ;  then  we  cannot  extend  to  uni- 
versality our  sensuous  pleasures,  because  we  cannot 
make  our  individuality  universal.  We  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  cognition  only  generically,  and  while 
carefully  removing  from  our  judgment  every  trace  of 
the  individual ;  then  we  cannot  make  our  rational 
pleasures  universal,  because  we  cannot  exclude,  as 
from  our  own  judgment,  the  traces  of  individuality  in 
that  of  others.  Beauty  alone  we  enjoy  at  the  same 
time  as  individual  and  as  genus ;  that  is,  as  represent- 
atives of  the  race.  Sensuous  good  can  only  make  one 
happy  person,  since  it  founds  itself  upon  inclination, 
which  is  always  accompanied  by  exclusion  ;  and  it  can 
only  make  this  one  partially  happy,  because  the  person- 
ality does  not  participate.  Absolute  good  can  make 
happy  only  under  conditions,  which  are  not  universally 
to  be  predicated  ;  for  truth  is  only  the  reward  of  de- 
nial, and  only  a  pure  heart  believes  in  a  pure  will. 


./ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 


147 


Beauty  alone  blesses  all  the  world,  and  every  being  for- 
gets its  limitations,  while  under  her  enchantment. 

No  preeminence,  no  absolute  monarchy  is  tolerated, 
so  far  as  taste  governs,  and  the  empire  of  beauty  in 
show  is  diffused.  This  empire  extends  upwards  to  the 
place  where  reason  rules  with  absolute  necessity,  abol- 
ishing all  matter ;  and  downwards  where  the  native 
impulse  controls  with  blind  necessitation,  and  form  is 
still  in  embryo  ;  nay,  taste  itself  still  preserves  its  execu- 
tive power  upon  these  distant  confines,  where  its  legis- 
lative power  is  taken  away.  Isolated  desires  must  re- 
nounce their  selfishness,  and  the  agreeable,  which  other- 
wise only  entices  the  senses,  must  also  cast  the  toils  of 
grace  over  the  spirit.  Duty,  the  stern  voice  of  neces- 
sity, must  alter  its  reproachful  formula,  which  resist- 
ance alone  can  justify,  and  honor  willing  nature  by  a 
nobler  confidence.  Taste  conducts  knowledge  from 
the  mysteries  of  science  forth  beneath  the  open  heaven 
of  common  sense,  and  converts  the  property  of  the 
schools  into  a  common  good  for  the  whole  human 
family.  Even  the  loftiest  genius  must  resign  its  par- 
ticular elevation,  and  descend  familiarly  to  the  compre- 
hension of  a  child.  Power  must  submit  while  the 
Graces  bind  it,  and  the  self-willed  lion  must  obey  the 
reins  of  Love.  To  this  end  it  draws  its  favoring  veil 
over  physical  need,  which  offends  the  dignity  of  a  free 
spirit  in  its  naked  shape,  and  conceals  from  us  the  de- 
grading relationship  with  matter,  by  a  delicious  illusion 
of  freedom.  Even  mercenary  art,  borrowing  its  wings, 
lifts  itself  from  the  dust ;  and  the  fetters  of  corporeity, 


14S  ESTHETIC  CULTURE. 

touched  by  its  wand,  drop  from  the  inanimate  as  well 
as  animate.  In  the  aesthetic  state,  all,  even  the  sub- 
serving tool,  is  a  free  citizen,  possessing  equal  rights 
with  the  noblest ;  and  the  intellect,  which  forcibly 
moulds  the  passive  mass  to  its  designs,  must  consult 
with  it  concerning  its  destination.  Here,  then,  in  the 
empire  of  aesthetic  show,  is  that  ideal  of  equality  ful- 
filled, which  the  enthusiast  would  so  gladly  see  realized 
in  actual  life ;  and  if  it  is  true,  that  polite  manners  at- 
tain their  earliest  and  most  perfect  maturity,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  throne,  we  must  also  recognize  here  the 
benevolent  dispensation,  which  often  appears  to  restrict 
man  in  the  actual,  only  to  excite  his  development  in 
the  ideal,  world. 

But  does  such  a  state  of  beauty  in  show  exist,  and 
where  is  it  to  be  found  ?  In  every  finely  strung  soul  it 
exists  as  a  necessity  ;  but  as  a  fact,  one  would  rind  it, 
like  the  pure  church  and  the  pure  republic,  only  in 
select  circles,  where  the  demeanor  is  formed,  not  by 
the  lifeless  imitation  of  foreign  manners,  but  by  the  in- 
trinsic beauty  of  nature, — where  man  passes  through 
the  most  intricate  circumstances  with  cool  simplicity 
and  tranquil  innocence,  and  is  neither  compelled  to 
insult  another's  freedom,  in  order  to  maintain  his  own, 
nor  to  manifest  grace  at  the  expense  of  dignity. 


UPON 


THE    NECESSARY  LIMITS 


IN   THE    USE  OF 


BEAUTIFUL  FORMS. 


LIMITS 


OF  TASTE. 


The  abuse  of  Beauty,  and  the  pretensions  of  the 
imagination  to  appropriate  for  itself  the  legislative, 
where  it  only  possesses  the  executive,  power,  have  been 
so  detrimental  both  in  life  and  in  science,  that  it  is  of 
the  utmost  importance  properly  to  define  the  limits, 
which  are  requisite  to  the  use  of  beautiful  forms. 
These  limits  are  already  embraced  in  the  nature  of 
Beauty,  and  we  need  only  call  to  mind  how  taste  exerts 
its  influence,  to  be  able  to  define  liow  far  it  may  ex- 
tend it. 

The  operations  of  taste  are  generally  undertaken, 
to  bring  into  harmony,  and  to  combine  in  an  internal 
alliance,  the  sensuous  and  spiritual  powers  of  man. 
Where  then  such  an  internal  alliance  between  reason 
and  sense  has  a  legitimate  design,  an  influence  is  to  be 
allowed  to  taste.  But  suppose  cases,  where,  either  to 
accomplish  a  design,  or  to  satisfy  a  duty,  we  must  act 
as  pure  rational  beings,  free  from  all  sensuous  influ- 
ence, and  where  then  the  alliance  between  spirit  and 


152 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


matter  must  be  for  the  time  destroyed,  —  there  taste 
finds  its  limits,  which  it  cannot  transgress,  without 
either  frustrating  a  design,  or  removing  us  from  our 
duty.  But  such  cases  actually  occur,  and  they  are 
already  prescribed  to  us  in  our  destiny. 

Our  destiny  (Bestimmung)  is,  to  acquire  cognitions 
and  to  act  from  them.  For  both  a  dexterity  is  requi- 
site, to  exclude  the  sense  from  that  which  the  spirit 
does,  since  perception  must  be  abstracted  from  every 
cognition,  and  desire  from  every  moral  volition. 

When  we  cognize,  we  are  in  a  state  of  activity,  and 
our  attention  is  directed  to  an  object,  to  a  relation  be- 
tween separate  modes.  When  we  perceive,  we  are  in 
a  state  of  passivity,  and  our  attention  (so  to  call  that, 
which  is  not  a  conscious  operation  of  the  spirit)  is  only 
directed  to  our  condition,  so  far  as  that  is  affected 
by  being  receptive  of  an  impression.  As  we  can  only 
perceive  and  not  cognize  Beauty,  we  remark  in  it  no 
relation  to  other  objects,  and  refer  its  mode  ( Vorstel- 
lung)  not  to  other  modes,  but  to  our  perceptive  self. 
We  experience  nothing  in  a  beautiful  object,  but  from 
it  we  experience  a  change  in  our  condition,  of  which 
perception  is  the  expression.  Then  our  knowledge  is 
not  extended  by  decisions  of  taste,  and  no  cognition, 
not  even  of  Beauty  itself,  is  obtained  by  the  percep- 
tion of  Beauty.  Where  then  cognition  is  the  aim, 
taste  can  be  of  no  service  to  us,  at  least  no  direct  and 
immediate  service ;  rather  is  cognition  discontinued, 
just  so  long  as  we  are  occupied  with  Beauty. 

But  it  will  be  objected,  of  what  service  then  is  an 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


153 


elegant  investiture  of  ideas,  if  the  intention  of  the  ex- 
position, which  can  be  nothing  else  than  to  educe  cog- 
nition, is  rather  thereby  hindered  than  assisted  ? 

Certainly,  beauty  of  investiture  can  promote  intel- 
lectual conviction  just  as  little  as  the  elegant  arrange- 
ment of  a  repast  serves  to  satiate  the  guest,  or  the 
exterior  polish  of  a  man  to  decide  his  internal  worth. 
But  just  as  on  the  one  hand,  the  fine  disposition  of  a 
table  entices  the  appetite,  and  on  the  other,  a  recom- 
mendatory exterior  generally  awakes  and  excites  atten- 
tion to  the  man,  so  by  an  attractive  exhibition  of  truth 
we  are  favorably  inclined  to  open  our  soul  to  it ;  and 
the  hindrances  in  our  disposition,  which  otherwise 
would  have  opposed  the  difficult  prosecution  of  a 
long  and  rigorous  chain  of  thought,  are  removed.  The 
subject  never  gains  by  beauty  of  form,  nor  is  the  under- 
standing assisted  in  its  cognition  by  taste.  The  sub- 
ject must  recommend  itself  directly  to  the  understand- 
ing through  itself,  while  beauty  of  form  addresses  the 
imagination,  and  flatters  it  with  a  show  of  freedom. 

But  this  innocent  condescension  toward  the  senses, 
which  is  only  allowable  in  the  form,  without  thereby 
changing  the  subject  at  all,  is  subjected  to  great  re- 
strictions, and  can  be  completely  destructive  of  design, 
according  to  the  kind  of  cognition  and  the  degree  of 
conviction  which  one  proposes  in  communicating  his 
thoughts. 

There  is  a  scientific  cognition,  which  rests  upon 
positive  ideas  and  recognized  principles,  and  a  popular 
cognition,  which  only  depends  upon  feelings  more  or 


154  LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 

less  developed.  What  is  often  very  conducive  to  the 
latter,  may  be  diametrically  opposed  to  the  former. 

Where  one  seeks  to  effect  a  strict  conviction  from 
principles,  it  is  not  done  by  displaying  truth  only 
according  to  the  subject,  but  the  proofs  of  truth  must 
also  be  contained  with  it,  in  the  form  of  the  exposition. 
But  this  means  nothing  else  than  that  not  only  the  sub- 
ject, but  also  its  statement,  must  be  in  conformity  to  the 
laws  of  thought.  The  conceptions  must  also  be  united 
in  the  exposition  with  the  same  rigid  necessity  with 
which  they  depend  upon  each  other  in  the  intellect, 
and  stability  in  statement  must  correspond  to  stability 
in  idea.  But  now  that  freedom,  which  is  allowed  to 
the  imagination  in  cognitions,  strives  with  the  rigid 
necessity,  according  to  which  the  intellect  concate- 
nates its  judgments  and  conclusions.  The  imagination 
continually  strives,  in  conformity  with  its  nature,  after 
intuitions  —  that  is,  after  complete  and  universally 
definite  representations,  and  is  incessantly  employed 
in  exhibiting  the  universal  in  a  single  case,  confining 
it  to  space  and  time,  securing  to  the  conception  an 
individuality,  and  giving  the  abstract  a  corporeity.  It 
likes  freedom,  too,  in  its  combinations,  and  thus  re- 
cognizes no  other  law  than  the  serial  chance  of  space 
and  time ;  for  this  is  the  only  principle  of  coherency, 
which  remains  to  us  in  our  representations,  if  we  rea- 
son away  all  that  is  conception,  all  that  internally 
connects  them.  In  a  manner  quite  the  reverse,  the 
intellect  is  busied  with  partial  representations  or  con- 
ceptions, and  its  endeavors  tend  to  distinguish  char- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


155 


acteristics  in  the  animate  whole  of  an  intuition.  Since 
the  intellect  unites  things  according  to  the  internal 
relations,  which  can  only  be  discovered  by  dissection, 
it  can  combine  only  so  far  as  it  previously  separated  — 
that  is,  only  by  partial  representations.  The  intellect 
observes  a  rigid  necessity  and  legality  in  its  combina- 
tions, and  it  can  only  be  satisfied  by  a  permanent 
association  of  ideas.  But  this  association  will  be 
destroyed,  as  often  as  the  imagination  inserts  entire 
representations  (single  cases)  in  this  chain  of  abstrac- 
tions, and  mingles  the  serial  chance  of  time  with  the 
rigid  necessity  of  an  actual  connexion  (in  fact).1 
Hence  it  is  unavoidably  necessary  that  the  imagination 
should  renounce  its  capricious  character,  where  there 
is  to  be  strict  consequence  of  thought,  and  learn  to 
subordinate  and  sacrifice  its  struggle  after  the  greatest 
possible  sensuousness  in  representations,  and  the  great- 
est possible  freedom  in  their  combination,  to  the  wants 
of  the  intellect.  For  this  reason  the  exposition  must 
be  so  managed  as  to  crush  that  effort  of  the  imagina- 
tion, by  excluding  everything  individual  and  sensuous, 
and  as  well  to  restrict  its  restless  poetic-impulse  by 
definiteness  in  expression,  as  the  advances  of  its  ca- 

1  An  author  who  is  engaged  in  strict  scientific  inquiries,  will  on 
that  account  make  a  reluctant  and  sparing  use  of  examples  (By-play, 
Beispiel).  What  obtains  with  perfect  truth  in  the  universal,  is  lia- 
ble to  qualifications  in  each  particular  case  ;  and  as  circumstances 
occur  in  each  particular  case,  which  are  contingent  in  respect  to  the 
general  idea  it  is  meant  to  elucidate,  it  is  always  to  be  feared,  that 
these  contingent  relations  may  become  incorporated  with  that  general 
idea,  and  deduct  somewhat  from  its  universality  and  necessity. 


156 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


price  in  combination  by  conformity  to  law.  To  be 
sure,  it  will  not  be  subjected  to  this  yoke  without  resist- 
ance, but  we  here  reasonably  reckon  upon  a  self-denial 
and  a  serious  resolution  of  the  hearer  or  reader,  not 
to  regard,  for  the  sake  of  the  facts,  the  difficulties 
which  are  inseparable  from  form. 

But  where  such  a  resolution  can  not  be  presupposed, 
and  where  We  can  indulge  no  hope,  that  interest  in  the 
subject  will  be  sufficiently  strong,  to  encourage  this 
exertion,  there  indeed  we  must  refrain  from  the  com- 
munication of  a  scientific  cognition,  but  gain  instead 
somewhat  more  freedom  as  to  exposition.  In  this  case 
we  resign  the  form  of  science,  which  tasked  the  imagi- 
nation too  severely,  and  which  can  only  be  made 
tolerable  through  the  importance  of  the  aim,  and  we 
select  instead  the  form  of  Beauty,  which,  independent 
of  all  subjects,  is  its  own  recommendation.  Since  the 
facts  will  not  protect  the  form,  the  form  must  disregard 
the  facts. 

Popular  instruction  is  compatible  with  this  freedom. 
As  the  demagogue  or  popular  author  (an  appellation, 
under  which  I  comprehend  each  one,  who  does  not 
address  exclusively  the  learned)  speaks  to  a  public  not 
previously  prepared,  and  does  not  select  his  reader  like 
the  other,  but  must  take  him  as  he  finds  him,  he  can 
only  presuppose  in  him  the  universal  conditions  of 
thought,  only  the  universal  incentives  to  attention,  but 
no  peculiar  aptness  in  reasoning,  no  acquaintance  yet 
with  definite  conceptions,  no  interest  in  definite  objects. 
Then  too  he  cannot  presume  at  hazard  that  the  imagi- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


157 


nation  of  those  whom  he  wishes  to  instruct,  will  combine 
the  requisite  meaning  with  his  abstractions,  and  furnish 
a  subject  to  the  general  conceptions,  to  which  the  scien- 
tific exposition  is  limited.  In  order  to  proceed  more 
securely,  he  prefers  to  give  at  once  both  the  intuitions 
and  the  single  cases,  to  which  those  conceptions  relate ; 
and  he  leaves  it  to  his  reader's  intellect,  to  fashion 
therefrom  the  conception  extempore.  Then  the  imagi- 
nation will  be  brought  into  play  much  more  by  the 
popular  exposition,  but  still  only  rcproductively ,  (re- 
newing communicated  representations),  and  not  pro- 
ductively (demonstrating  its  self-creating  power). 
Those  single  cases  or  intuitions  are  much  too  strictly 
estimated  with  reference  to  the  present  design,  and 
much  too  accurately  adjusted  for  the  use  that  should 
be  made  of  them,  for  the  imagination  ever  to  forget 
that  it  acts  in  the  service  of  the  intellect.  It  is  true, 
the  exposition  keeps  somewhat  nearer  to  life  and  the 
world  of  sense,  but  is  not  yet  lost  in  it.  Then  the 
statement  still  continues  to  be  only  didactic ;  for,  in 
order  to  be  beautiful,  it  fails  of  the  two  most  eminent 
qualities,  sensuousness  in  expression,  and  freedom  in 
motion. 

The  statement  is  free,  when  the  intellect  defines 
indeed  with  precision  the  consecution  of  ideas,  but  ac- 
cording to  laws  so  hidden,  that  the  imagination  appears 
to  act  in  a  manner  entirely  capricious,  and  to  follow 
only  the  serial  chance  of  time.  The  statement  is  sensu- 
ous, if  it  conceals  the  universal  in  the  particular,  and 
resigns  to  the  fancy  the  living  image  (the  entire  repre- 


158 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


sentation),  where  the  only  object  is  the  conception, 
(the  partial  representation).  Then  the  sensuous  repre- 
sentation, regarded  from  one  point  of  view,  is  rich, 
since  where  only  a  determination  is  required,  it  affords 
a  complete  image,  an  entirety  of  determinations,  an  in- 
dividual ;  but,  regarded  from  another  point  of  view,  it 
is  again  limited  and  poor,  since  it  only  maintains  of  one 
individual  and  of  a  single  case,  what  is  yet  to  be  under- 
stood of  a  whole  sphere.  Thus  it  abridges  the  intel- 
lect exactly  in  proportion  to  the  surplus  it  gives  to  the 
imagination,  for  the  more  complete  a  representation  is 
in  contents,  the  less  is  its  extent. 

It  is  the  interest  of  the  imagination,  to  change  its 
objects  arbitrarily  ;  the  interest  of  the  intellect  is  to 
unite  its  own  objects  with  rigid  necessity.  As  much 
as  both  these  interests  appear  to  conflict,  there  is  still 
a  point  of  union  between  them,  and  to  discover  this,  is 
the  peculiar  merit  of  beautiful  style. 

In  order  to  satisfy  the  imagination,  the  discourse 
must  have  a  material  part  or  body,  which  is  supplied 
by  the  intuitions,  from  which  the  intellect  separates  the 
single  characteristics  or  conceptions ;  for,  however  ab- 
stractly we  may  reflect,  there  is  always  at  last  some- 
thing sensuous  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  our  reflec- 
tion. But  only  the  imagination  flies  from  intuition  to 
intuition,  unconstrained  and  irregularly,  and  obeys  no 
other  connexion  than  that  of  the  succession  of  time. 
Then  the  intuitions  which  afford  the  material  part 
to  the  discourse,  stand  in  no  actual  connexion  with 
each  other,  but  appear  rather  to  exist  for  themselves 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


159 


as  independent  members  and  as  proper  wholes ;  they 
betray  the  entire  disorder  of  an  imagination  at  play 
and  only  conforming  to  itself,  so  that  the  attire  has 
aesthetic  freedom,  and  the  want  of  fancy  is  satisfied. 
We  might  say  that  such  an  exposition  is  an  organic 
product,  where  not  only  the  whole  lives,  but  the  single 
members  have  also  their  proper  existence  ;  the  merely 
scientific  exposition  is  a  mechanical  work,  where  the 
members,  in  themselves  lifeless,  impart  to  the  whole,  by 
their  intimate  union,  an  artificial  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  intellect 
and  educe  cognition,  the  discourse  must  have  a  spirit- 
ual part,  significance,  and  this  it  acquires  through  the 
conceptions,  by  whose  means  those  intuitions  are  re- 
lated to  each  other  and  united  in  a  whole  Now  if  be- 
tween these  conceptions,  as  the  spiritual  part  of  the 
discourse,  the  closest  connexion  exists,  while  their 
corresponding  intuitions,  as  the  sensuous  part  of  the 
discourse,  only  appear  to  coexist  by  an  arbitrary  play 
of  the  fancy,  —  the  problem  is  solved,  and  the  intellect 
is  satisfied  by  conformity,  while  the  fancy  is  flattered 
by  non-conformity. 

Let  one  seek  to  discover  the  magic  of  beautiful  dic- 
tion, and  he  will  always  find  that  it  is  contained  in 
such  a  felicitous  relation  between  external  freedom  and 
internal  necessity.  The  individualizing  of  objects, 
and  the  figurative  or  informed  expression,  chiefly  con- 
tribute to  this  freedom  of  imagination,  the  former  by 
elevating  the  sensuousness,  and  the  latter  by  creating 
it  where  it  is  not.    While  we  represent  a  genus  by  an 


160 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


individual,  and  exhibit  an  universal  idea  in  a  single 
case,  we  take  from  fancy  the  fetters  which  the  intellect 
had  imposed  upon  it,  and  give  it  ample  power  to  de- 
monstrate itself  creatively.  Ever  striving  after  com- 
pleteness of  determinations,  it  now  obtains  and  uses  the 
right  to  restore,  to  animate,  to  transform  at  pleasure, 
the  image  committed  to  it,  and  to  accompany  it  in  all 
its  combinations  and  transformations.  It  may  for  a" 
moment  forget  its  subordinate  part,  and  conduct  itself 
like  an  arbitrary  sovereign,  since  a  sufficient  security 
against  it  exists  in  the  rigorous,  internal  connexion,  so 
that  it  can  never  entirely  escape  from  the  reins  of  the 
intellect.  The  informal  expression  carries  this  freedom 
still  further,  while  coupling  together  images,  which 
are  entirely  diverse  as  to  their  contents,  but  which  as- 
sociate themselves  together  under  a  higher  idea.  Now 
since  the  fancy  confines  itself  to  the  contents,  the  in- 
tellect, on  the  contrary,  to  that  higher  idea,  the  former 
makes  a  leap,  where  the  intellect  perceives  the  perfect 
stability.  The  ideas  unfold  according  to  the  law  of 
necessity,  but  pass  over  to  the  imagination  according 
to  the  law  of  freedom ;  thought  remains  the  same  — 
only  the  medium  of  its  exhibition  is  changed.  Thus 
does  the  gifted  author  create  the  lordliest  order  out  of 
anarchy  itself,  and  erects  a  solid  fabric  upon  an  ever 
vacillating  foundation  —  on  the  ever  flowing  stream  of 
imagination. 

If  we  institute  a  parallel  between  the  scientific,  the 
popular  and  the  beautiful  diction,  it  is  apparent  that  all 
three  deliver  the  idea  to  be  embodied,  with  equal  fidel- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


161 


ity,  materially,  and  thus  all  three  assist  us  to  a  cogni- 
tion, but  in  such  a  manner  that  the  kind  and  degree  of 
this  cognition  are  with  each  one  sensibly  different. 
The  aesthetic  author  presents  us  the  data  from  which 
he  proceeds,  rather  as  possible  and  desirable,  than  con- 
vincing us  of  their  reality  or  even  necessity ;  for  his 
thought  announces  itself  only  as  an  arbitrary  creation 
of  the  imagination,  which,  for  itself  alone,  is  never  in  a 
condition  to  warrant  the  reality  of  its  representations. 
The  popular  author  awakes  in  us  the  belief  that  a  thing 
is  really  so,  but  he  succeeds  no  further ;  for  he  makes 
the  truth  of  that  statement  sensible  to  us,  but  not  abso- 
lutely certain.  Feeling  indeed  can  teach  what  is, 
but  never  what  must  be.  The  philosophical  author 
elevates  that  belief  to  conviction,  for  he  proves  upon 
indubitable  grounds,  that  a  thing  is  necessarily  so. 

If  we  start  from  the  previous  principles,  it  will  not 
be  difficult  to  assign  its  suitable  place  to  each  of  the 
three  different  forms  of  diction.  Upon  the  whole  it 
may  be  regarded  as  a  rule,  that  where  not  only  the  re- 
sult is  important,  but  the  demonstration  also,  the  sci- 
entific style  deserves  the  preference,  and  the  popular 
and  aesthetic  style,  where  generally  there  is  reference 
only  to  the  result.  But  ivhen  the  popular  mode  of  ex- 
pression may  pass  over  to  the  (Esthetic,  is  determined 
by  the  greater  or  less  degree  of  interest,  which  is  to  be 
presupposed  and  created. 

The  pure  scientific  expression  puts  us  (more  or  less, 
according  as  it  is  more  philosophical  or  more  popular), 
in  possession  of  a  cognition  ;  the  aesthetic  expression 
11 


162 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


lends  us  the  same  only  for  momentary  enjoyment  and 
use.  The  first  give  us  —  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  com- 
parison —  the  tree  with  its  roots,  but  indeed  we  must 
wait  patiently,  till  it  blossoms  and  bears  fruit ;  the  aes- 
thetic expression  plucks  for  us  only  the  blossoms  and 
fruit,  but  the  tree  which  bore  them  is  not  ours  ;  and 
when  they  are  enjoyed  and  have  withered,  our  posses- 
sions vanish  away.  It  would  be  just  as  absurd  to  pre- 
sent him,  who  just  now  only  desires  a  fruit,  with  the 
tree  itself  and  its  fruits  in  prospect,  as  it  would  be  to 
pull  off  only  the  flowers  and  fruit  for  him  who  would 
have  the  tree  itself  planted  in  his  garden.  The  appli- 
cation is  self-evident,  and  I  will  only  remark,  that  the 
aesthetic  expression  is  just  as  little  suited  to  the  chair 
of  instruction,  as  the  precise  and  scientific  to  refined 
conversation  and  the  forum. 

The  disciple  gathers  for  remote  purposes  and  for  a 
future  use  ;  hence  the  teacher  must  be  careful  to  make 
him  a  complete  possessor  of  the  knowledge,  which  he 
transmits  to  him.  But  nothing  is  our  own,  except  that 
which  is  transmitted  to  the  intellect.  The  orator,  on 
the  contrary,  designs  a  speedy  use,  and  has  an  imme- 
diate need  of  satisfying  his  public.  It  is  his  interest 
then,  to  make  the  knowledge  which  he  imparts  prac- 
tical, as  quickly  as  possible,  and  he  performs  this  in 
the  safest  way,  when  he  commits  it  to  the  sense  and 
qualifies  it  for  the  perception.  The  teacher,  who  ac- 
cepts his  public  only  upon  conditions,  and  is  author- 
ized, in  already  presupposing  that  it  has  the  mental 
disposition  which  is  requisite  for  the  reception  of  truth, 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


163 


only  regards  the  object  of  his  discourse ;  as  on  the  con- 
trary the  orator,  who  need  enter  upon  no  condition 
with  his  public,  and  must  first  gain  over  their  inclina- 
tion to  his  purpose,  has  to  address  himself  at  once  to 
the  subjects  which  he  discusses.  The  former,  whose 
public  is  the  same,  and  regularly  returns,  need  only  de- 
liver fragments,  which  form  a  whole  when  united  with 
the  preceding  expositions ;  the  latter,  whose  public 
changes  constantly,  and  comes  unprepared  and  perhaps 
never  returns,  must  complete  his  business  in  every 
single  delivery  ;  each  of  his  discourses  must  be  a  whole 
in  itself,  and  contain  its  complete  development. 

Hence  it  is  not  strange,  if  a  profoundly  dogmatic 
discourse  meets  with  no  success  in  conversation  and 
from  the  pulpit,  and  a  spiritual,  aesthetic  discourse 
bears  no  fruit  in  the  chair  of  science  —  if  the  polite 
world  leaves  unread  writings  which  form  an  epoch  in 
the  world  of  letters,  and  the  scholar  is  ignorant  of 
works  which  are  a  school  for  the  polished,  and  are 
eagerly  sought  after  by  every  admirer  of  Beauty.  Each 
kind  can  command  admiration  in  its  own  definite  circle 
—  nay,  as  to  their  internal  capacity,  both  may  be  on  a 
perfect  equality ;  but  it  would  smack  of  impossibility, 
if  we  desired  that  a  work  which  tasked  the  thinker, 
should  at  the  same  time  grace  the  leisure  hour  of  the 
mere  bel-esprit. 

Upon  these  grounds  I  consider  it  blameworthy,  if 
works  are  selected  for  the  education  of  youth,  in  which 
scientific  matters  are  invested  with  an  aesthetic  form. 


1G4 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


I  speak  here  by  no  means  of  those  works,  where  the 
subject  has  been  sacrificed  to  the  form,  but  of  really 
excellent  works,  whose  facts  abide  a  most  rigorous 
proof,  but  do  not  include  this  proof  in  their  form.  It 
is  true,  one  accomplishes  with  such  works  the  design  of 
being  read,  but  always  at  the  expense  of  the  more  im- 
portant design,  to  what  use  are  they  read.  By  such 
reading  the  intellect  is  always  exercised  only  in  its  har- 
mony with  the  imagination,  and  thus  never  learns  to 
distinguish  the  form  from  the  subject-matter,  and  to  act 
as  a  pure  faculty.  And  yet  the  mere  exercise  of  the 
intellect  is  an  important  crisis  in  the  education  of  the 
young,  and  in  most  cases,  consists  more  in  the  think- 
ing than  in  the  thought.  If  we  would  have  an  em- 
ployment  well-conducted,  we  take  care  to  announce  it 
as  a  sport.  But  the  spirit  should  rather  be  already 
braced  to  action  by  the  form  of  treatment,  and  must  be 
thrust  forward  with  a  certain  violence  from  passivity  to 
activity.  The  teacher  should  by  no  means  conceal 
from  his  scholar  the  rigorous  conformity  of  method, 
but  rather  present  it  to  his  attention,  and  where  possi- 
ble, make  it  an  object  of  his  desire.  The  student 
should  learn  to  prosecute  a  design,  and  be  content  too 
with  disagreeable  means  for  the  sake  of  the  design. 
He  should  early  strive  after  that  nobler  pleasure  which 
is  the  reward  of  exertion.  The  senses  are  entirely  re- 
buffed by  a  scientific  exposition,  but  an  aesthetic  one 
excites  their  interest.  What  will  be  the  result?  We 
devour  with  sympathy  such  a  work,  such  a  conversa- 
tion —  but  we  are  hardly  in  a  condition  to  render  a 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


165 


proper  account,  when  asked  for  the  results.  And  very 
naturally  —  for  the  conceptions  press  into  the  soul  by 
whole  masses,  but  the  intellect  can  cognize  only  where 
it  divides ;  the  mind  is  rather  passively  than  actively 
disposed  during  the  reading,  but  the  spirit  possesses 
nothing  but  what  results  from  its  own  action. 

Finally,  this  holds  good  only  of  Beauty  of  a  common 
kind,  and  of  the  perception  of  such  Beauty.  The  true 
Beauty  is  based  upon  the  most  rigorous  definiteness, 
upon  the  strictest  separation,  upon  the  .highest  internal 
necessity  ;  only  this  definiteness  must  wait  to  be  found, 
rather  than  forcibly  intrude  itself.  The  highest  con- 
formity must  exist  there,  but  it  must  appear  as  nature. 
Such  a  product  will  fully  satisfy  the  intellect,  as  soon 
as  it  is  studied  —  but  exactly  because  it  is  truly  beau- 
tiful, it  does  not  intrude  its  conformity,  nor  address  it- 
self to  the  intellect  in  particular,  but  it  speaks  as  pure 
unity  to  the  harmonizing  whole  of  man  —  as  nature  to 
nature.  A  common  critic  perhaps  finds  it  vague, 
meagre,  far  too  little  defined  ;  that  very  thing  in  which 
the  triumph  of  the  exposition  consists  —  the  perfect 
dissolution  of  parts  into  a  simple  whole,  displeases  him, 
because  he  is  only  skilled  in  discriminating,  and  only 
has  an  eye  for  the  single.  To  be  sure,  the  discrimi- 
nating power  of  the  intellect  should  be  satisfied  in  phi- 
losophical expositions,  single  results  should  obtain  for 
it  throughout ;  this  is  the  design  which  can  by  no 
means  be  overlooked.  But  if  the  author  has  so  pro- 
vided, by  a  rigorous  internal  definiteness,  that  the  in- 
tellect must  necessarily  find  these  results,  as  soon  as  it 


166 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


applies  itself  in  that  direction,  yet  if  not  content  with 
that  alone,  and  constrained  by  his  nature,  (which 
always  works  as  a  harmonious  unity,  and  quickly  re- 
stores again  this  unity,  where  it  has  been  lost  in  the 
operation  of  abstraction),  he  again  combines  the  dis- 
membered, and,  through  the  united  demands  of  the 
spiritual  and  sensuous  power,  always  claims  the  whole 
man, —  then  indeed,  far  from  writing  according  to  an 
indifferent  standard,  he  has  nearly  approached  the 
highest.  Certainly  the  common  critic,  who,  without 
an  eye  for  this  harmony,  continually  strives  only  for 
the  partial,  who,  in  St.  Peter's  Church  itself,  would 
only  examine  the  pillars  which  support  that  artificial 
firmament,  will  be  little  obliged  to  him  for  creating  for 
him  a  twofold  labor  ;  for  such  a  one  must  forsooth 
first  translate  the  author,  if  he  would  understand  him ; 
just  as  the  mere  naked  intellect,  deprived  of  all  faculty 
of  exposition,  must  first  transpose  and  lay  apart  in  its 
delivery  the  beautiful  and  harmonious  in  nature  as 
well  as  in  art,  —  in  short,  like  the  school-boy,  must 
first  learn  to  spell,  in  order  to  read.  But  the  exhibit- 
ory  author  is  never  restricted  by  the  narrowness  and 
poverty  of  his  reader.  He  moves  towards  the  ideal 
which  he  bears  within,  unconcerned,  who  follows  him 
or  who  loiters.  Many  will  remain  behind  ;  for,  how- 
ever rare  it  is  only  to  find  even  thinking  readers,  it  is 
infinitely  more  rare,  to  meet  with  those  who  can  set 
forth  their  thought,  (darstellend  denhen  Jcdnnen). 
Then  such  an  author  will,  in  the  nature  of  things,  fall 
out  as  well  with  those  who  only  contemplate  and  per- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


167 


ceive  —  for  he  imposes  upon  them  the  distasteful  toil 
of  thought  —  as  with  those,  who  only  think,  since  he 
demands  what  for  them  is  absolutely  impossible  —  the 
exercise  of  a  creative  faculty.  But  as  both  are  only 
very  incomplete  representatives  of  common  and  genu- 
ine humanity,  which  calls  for  an  entire  harmony  of 
both  those  occupations,  their  contradiction  signifies 
nothing;  their  judgments  rather  assure  the  author  that 
he  has  gained  the  object  of  his  search.  The  abstract 
thinker  finds  his  subject  well  meditated,  and  the  con- 
templative reader  finds  his  style  lively ;  both  approve 
then  what  they  comprehend,  and  only  miss  what  sur- 
passes their  ability. 

But,  on  these  very  grounds,  such  an  author  is  entirely 
incompetent  to  acquaint  the  unlearned  with  the  object, 
of  which  he  treats,  —  or,  in  the  most  peculiar  sense  of 
the  word,  to  teach.  Luckily  he  is  not  compelled  to 
this,  since  there  is  no  dearth  of  subjects  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  learned.  The  teacher,  strictly  so  called, 
must  accommodate  himself  to  the  present  exigency  ; 
he  goes  upon  the  supposition  of  incapacity  ;  as,  on  the 
contrary,  the  author  demands  from  his  reader  or  hearer 
a  certain  integrity  and  cultivation.  Hence  he  does 
not  confine  his  action  to  the  mere  communication  of 
lifeless  conceptions ;  he  embraces  the  animate  with 
lively  energy  and  takes  possession  of  the  whole  man, 
his  intellect,  his  feeling  and  his  will. 

If  it  is  found  injurious  to  the  stability  of  knowledge, 
to  give  room  to  the  demands  of  taste  in  the  process  of 
learning,  it  is  therefore  by  no  means  affirmed,  that  the 


168 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


cultivation  of  this  faculty  would  be  premature  in  the 
scholar.  Quite  the  reverse ;  we  should  animate  and 
prompt  him,  to  communicate,  by  means  of  lively  repre- 
sentation, those  sciences  which  he  has  made  his  own 
by  means  of  study.  If  the  latter  has  only  been  regard- 
ed, the  former  can  have  none  other  than  useful  results. 
One  must  certainly  be  master  of  a  truth  in  a  high  de- 
gree, to  be  able  to  forsake,  without  danger,  the  form 
in  which  it  had  been  found  ;  one  must  possess  a  great 
intellect,  in  order  not  to  lose  his  object  in  the  free  play 
of  the  imagination.  Whoever  imparts  to  me  his  knowl- 
edge in  a  scientific  form,  convinces  me  indeed,  that  he 
properly  comprehends,  and  knows  how  to  maintain  it ; 
but  he  who  is  prepared  at  the  same  time  to  communi- 
cate it  in  an  aesthetic  form,  not  only  proves  that  he  is 
competent  to  dispense  it,  but  also  that  he  has  taken  it 
up  into  his  own  nature,  and  is  capable  of  representing 
it  in  his  actions.  There  is  no  other  path  for  the  re- 
sults of  thought  to  the  will  and  into  the  life,  but  through 
the  self-active  formative  power.  Nothing  but  what  is 
already  a  living  fact  within  us,  can  become  so  without 
us,  and  it  is  with  creations  of  the  spirit  as  with  organic 
formations  —  the  blossom  always  precedes  the  fruit. 

If  we  consider,  how  many  truths  are  active  as  inter- 
nal intuitions,  a  long  time  before  philosophy  demon- 
strates them,  and  how  often  the  best  demonstrated 
truths  continue  powerless  for  the  feeling  and  will,  we 
shall  perceive,  how  important  it  is  for  practical  life,  to 
pursue  this  hint  of  nature,  and  to  convert  scientific 


» 


LIMITS    OF    TASTE.  169 

cognitions  again  into  active  intuitions.  In  this  way 
only  is  one  prepared  to  participate  in  those  treasures  of 
wisdom,  which  are  forbidden  by  their  constitution  to 
take  the  unnatural  path  of  science.  In  respect  to  cog- 
nition, Beauty  here  performs  that,  which  in  respect  to 
the  mode  of  action,  it  performs  in  the  moral  world  ;  it 
brings  men  together  in  the  results  and  the  material, 
who  would  never  have  united  in  the  form  and  the  sub- 
ject-matter. 

The  softer  sex  cannot  and  need  not,  in  conformity  to 
its  nature  and  aesthetic  determinateness,  participate 
with  the  reader  in  science,  but,  through  the  medium  of 
representation,  it  can  do  so  in  truth.  Man  is  still  well 
satisfied,  that  his  taste  should  be  offended,  if  the  intel- 
lect is  only  compensated  by  the  internal  capacity  of  a 
subject.  He  is  commonly  only  the  more  pleased,  the 
more  severely  the  definiteness  is  brought  out,  and  the 
more  completely  the  internal  quality  is  separated  from 
the  empirical  mode.  But  woman  does  not  resign  the 
most  neglected  form  for  the  richest  subject ;  and  the 
whole  interior  structure  of  her  being  justifies  the  severe 
demand.  This  sex,  which,  even  if  it  did  not  govern  by 
Beauty,  must  at  any  rate  be  called  the  fair  sex,  because 
Beauty  governs  it,  carries  everything  that  presents  it- 
self, before  the  tribunal  of  perception,  and  totally  re- 
jects whatever  does  not  commend  itself  to  that,  or  of- 
fends it.  Indeed,  the  truth  itself  which  is  inseparable 
from  its  proof,  cannot  be  transmitted  to  the  sex  through 
this  channel,  but  only  the  material  of  truth.  But  for- 
tunately they  only  require  the  material  of  truth,  in  or- 


170 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


der  to  attain  their  highest  perfection,  and  the  excep- 
tions that  have  hitherto  appeared,  cannot  excite  the 
wish  that  they  might  become  the  rule. 

Then  man  must  undertake  the  occupation  as  two- 
fold, which  nature  not  only  remits,  but  also  forbids  to 
the  other  sex,  if  he  would  meet  woman  on  an  equal 
footing  in  this  important  point  of  existence.  He  will 
then  seek  as  much  as  possible,  to  move  out  of  the 
realm  of  abstraction  where  he  reigns,  into  that  of 
imagination  and  perception,  where  woman  is  both  the 
model  and  arbitress.  As  he  can  establish  no  enduring 
growth  in  the  feminine  spirit,  he  will  seek  to  produce 
as  many  flowers  and  fruits  as  possible,  in  his  own  field, 
in  order  the  oftener  to  renew  the  soon  exhausted  sup- 
ply in  the  other,  and  to  be  able  to  sustain  an  artificial 
harvest  where  no  natural  one  comes  to  maturity.  Taste 
improves —  or  conceals  —  the  native  spiritual  distinc- 
tions of  both  sexes,  it  nourishes  and  adorns  the  femi- 
nine with  the  products  of  the  masculine  spirit,  and 
allows  the  fair  sex  to  perceive,  where  it  has  never 
thought,  and  enjoy,  where  it  has  never  labored. 

Then  it  is  true  that  form  in  communicating  knowl- 
edge is  intrusted  to  taste,  under  the  restrictions  which 
I  have  previously  mentioned  —  but  with  the  express 
condition  that  it  does  not  meddle  with  the  subject.  It 
should  never  forget,  that  it  executes  a  foreign  commis- 
sion, and  is  not  employed  with  its  own  business.  Its 
entire  instrumentality  should  be  confined  to  giving  the 
mind  an  inclination  favorable  for  cognition ;  but  it 
should  positively  assume  no  authority  in  all  that  con- 
cerns the  subject-matter. 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


171 


If  it  does  the  latter  —  if  it  makes  supreme  its  own 
law,  which  is  no  other  than  to  please  the  imagination 
and  satisfy  observation,  —  if  it  applies  this  law  not  only 
to  the  method,  but  also  to  the  matter,  and  not  only  ar- 
ranges, but  also  selects  the  materials  in  conformity  to 
itself,  it  both  exceeds  as  well  as  violates  its  commission, 
and  corrupts  the  object  which  it  ought  honestly  to 
transmit  to  us.  It  is  now  no  longer  asked,  what  the 
things  are ,  but  how  they  may  be  best  recommended  to 
the  senses.  The  rigid  consequence  of  thought,  which 
should  only  have  been  concealed,  is  cast  aside  as  a 
burdensome  restraint ;  perfection  is  sacrificed  to  grace 
—  the  truth  of  parts  to  the  Beauty  of  the  whole  —  the 
internal  quality  to  the  external  impression.  But  where 
the  subject  must  accommodate  itself  to  the  form,  there, 
in  fact,  is  no  subject ;  the  exposition  is  vivid,  and  man, 
instead  of  augmenting  his  science,  has  only  pursued  an 
entertaining  sport. 

Writers,  who  possess  more  wit  than  intellect,  and 
more  taste  than  science,  subject  themselves  too  often 
to  the  imputation  of  this  deception  ;  and  readers  who 
are  more  accustomed  to  perceive  than  to  reflect,  show 
themselves  but  too  ready  to  pardon  it.  It  is  generally 
a  hazardous  experiment,  to  form  the  taste  completely, 
before  one  has  exercised  the  intellect  as  a  pure  reflect- 
ive power,  and  enriched  his  head  with  ideas.  For  since 
taste  regards  continually  only  the  method  and  not  the 
matter,  all  actual  distinction  of  things  is  lost  just  where 
it  is  the  sole  judge.  One  becomes  indifferent  to  reality, 
and  finally  attributes  all  value  to  the  form  and  the  ap- 
pearance. 


172 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


Hence  the  shallow  and  frivolous  spirit,  which  we 
see  very  often  to  predominate  in  such  ranks  and  cir- 
cles, as  in  other  respects  boast  not  unjustly  of  the 
highest  refinement*  It  must  unavoidably  be  pernicious 
to  a  young  man,  to  introduce  him  into  this  circle  of  the 
graces,  before  the  Muses  have  declared  him  compe- 
tent ;  and  that  which  gives  the  exterior  polish  to  the 
mature  youth,  hardly  fails  to  make  a  fool  of  the  imma- 
ture.' Substance  without  form  is  indeed  only  a  half 
possession,  for  the  noblest  sciences  lie  buried,  like  dead 
treasures,  in  a  head  which  is  unable  to  give  them  any 
shape.  On  the  contrary,  form  without  substance  is 
only  the  shadow  of  a  possession,  and  all  possible  dex- 
terity in  expression  can  avail  him  nothing,  who  has  no- 
thing to  express. 

1  H.  Garve,  in  his  sagacious  parallel  of  gentle  and  simple  manners. 
in  the  first  part  of  his  Essays,  &c.  (a  book,  concerning  which  I  may 
premise,  that  it  should  he  in  the  hands  of  every  oue)  has  enumerated, 
among  the  prerogatives  of  a  noble  youth,  his  precocious  qualification 
for  intercourse  with  the  great  world,  from  which  the  commoner  is  ex- 
cluded by  his  birth.  But  H.  Garve  has  not  expressed  an  opinion  on 
the  point  whether  this  privilege,  which  undoubtedly  is  to  be  consid- 
ered advantageous,  as  regards  the  exterior  and  aesthetic  formation  of 
a  young  noble,  can  also  be  called  a  gain,  in  respect  to  his  internal  for- 
mation, and  thus  to  the  whole  of  his  culture  ;  and  I  doubt  whether 
he  would  be  able  to  justify  such  an  assertion.  As  much  too  as  is 
gained  in  this  way  for  form,  so  much  must  consequently  be  lost  in 
matter  ;  and  when  we  reflect,  how  much  easier  form  adapts  itself  ;o 
a  subject,  than  subject  to  a  form,  the  commoner  need  not  be  envious 
of  the  noble's  prerogative.  If  indeed  the  same  arrangement  must  ob- 
tain henceforward,  that  the  commoner  lalors,  and  the  nobleman 
represents,  no  belter  means  could  be  chosen  for  effecting  it,  than  this 
very  difference  in  culture  ;  but  I  doubt,  whether  the  nobleman  will  be 
always  content  with  such  a  division. 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


173 


If  then  aesthetic  culture  would  not  conduct  into  this 
by-path,  taste  must  only  define  the  external  shape,  but 
reason  and  experience,  the  internal  quality.  If  the 
sensuous  impression  is  made  chief  judge,  and  things 
relate  only  to  perception,  man  never  emerges  from  the 
bondage  of  matter,  and  it  never  becomes  light  within 
his  spirit,  —  in  short,  just  as  he  concedes  too  much  to 
the  imagination,  just  so  much  does  he  lose  in  the  free- 
dom of  his  reason. 

The  Beautiful  operates  through  mere  observation, 
the  True  will  have  study.  Whoever,  then,  merely 
exercises  his  sense  of  Beauty,  contents  himself,  where 
study  is  absolutely  necessary,  with  superficial  observa- 
tion, and  will  only  sport  cleverly,  where  grave  exertion 
is  demanded.  Nothing  is  ever  gained  by  mere  obser- 
vation. Whoever  will  perform  anything  great,  must 
penetrate  deeply,  discriminate  accurately,  combine  in 
manifold  ways  and  remain  steadfast.  Even  the  artist 
and  the  poet,  although  both  labor  only  for  the  satis- 
faction arising  from  observation,  can  succeed  in  mak- 
ing their  works  acceptable  to  us  in  the  sense  of  play, 
only  by  a  strenuous  and  nothing  less  than  attractive 
study. 

This  appears  to  me  to  be  the  infallible  test,  by  which 
we  may  distinguish  the  mere  dilettante  from  the  gen- 
uine artistic  genius.  The  seductive  charm  of  the 
great  and  the  beautiful,  the  fire  with  which  it  enkin- 
dles the  youthful  imagination,  and  the  appearance  of 
facility  with  which  it  deceives  the  senses,  have  already 
persuaded  many  an  inexperienced  one  to  seize  the 


174 


LIMITS   OF  TASTE. 


palette  or  the  lyre,  and  to  pour  out  whatever  within 
him  would  become  living,  in  shapes  or  tones.  Dark 
ideas  labor  like  a  becoming  world  in  his  head,  and 
lead  him  to  believe  that  he  is  inspired.  He  mistakes 
the  dark  for  the  profound,  the  savage  for  the  powerful, 
the  indefinite  for  the  infinite,  the  senseless  for  the 
supersensuous  —  and  how  does  he  not  plume  himself 
at  its  birth  !  But  the  judgment  of  the  connoisseur 
will  not  allow  this  testimony  of  ardent  self-love.  With 
obdurate  criticism  he  destroys  the  legerdemain  of  the 
heated  imagination,  and  sheds  a  light  down  the  deep 
shaft  of  science  and  experience,  where,  concealed  from 
the  unconsecrated,  bubbles  up  the  fountain  of  all  true 
Beauty.  If  genuine  genius  slumbers  in  the  interro- 
gating youth,  at  first,  indeed,  his  modesty  will  prove  a 
stumbling-block,  but  the  courage  of  true  talent  will 
soon  animate  him  to  endeavor.  If  nature  has  designed 
him  for  a  creative  artist,  he  studies  the  human  struc- 
ture beneath  the  knife  of  the  anatomist,  enters  the 
profoundest  depths,  in  order  to  be  true  upon  the  sur- 
face, and  investigates  the  whole  genus  in  order  to 
prove  his  right  to  the  individual.  If  he  is  born  to  be 
a  poet,  he  watches  the  humanity  in  his  own  breast,  in 
order  to  comprehend  its  infinitely  changing  play  upon 
the  wide  theatre  of  the  world;  he  subjects  luxuriant 
fancy  to  the  discipline  of  taste,  and  suffers  the  sober 
intellect  to  survey  the  banks,  between  which  the  stream 
of  inspiration  is  to  leap  and  sparkle.  He  is  well 
aware  that  the  great  increases  only  from  unseemly  tri- 
fles, and  he  rears,  grain  for  grain,  the  wondrous  fabric 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


175 


whose  single  impression  now  makes  us  giddy.  But 
if,  on  the  contrary,  nature  has  only  stamped  him  for 
a  dilettante,  difficulty  cools  his  lifeless  zeal,  and  he 
either  deserts,  if  he  is  modest,  a  path  which  self-de- 
ception pointed  out ;  or,  if  he  is  not,  he  diminishes  the 
great  ideal  to  the  little  diameter  of  his  own  capacity, 
since  he  is  not  in  a  condition  to  enlarge  his  capacity 
to  the  noble  proportions  of  the  ideal.  The  genuine 
artistic  genius,  then,  is  ever  to  be  recognized  in  this, 
that  in  the  most  glowing  feeling  for  totality,  it  pre- 
serves coldness  and  enduring  patience  for  the  partial, 
and  rather  sacrifices  the  delight  of  consummation,  lest 
it  should  mar  perfection.  The  laboriousness  of  the 
means  disgusts  the  mere  amateur  with  the  end,  and  he 
would  fain  remain  at  ease  in  production  as  in  obser- 
vation. 

Hitherto  we  have  spoken  of  the  disadvantages  which 
arise  from  an  overweening  susceptibility  to  the  beauti- 
ful in  form,  and  from  too  extensive  aesthetic  demands 
for  reflection  and  judgment.  But  the  pretensions  of 
taste  have  a  far  greater  meaning,  if  they  have  the  Will 
for  their  object ;  for  it  is  something  entirely  different, 
whether  the  immoderate  propensity  for  the  beautiful 
hinders  the  extension  of  our  knowledge,  or  whether  it 
vitiates  the  character,  and  causes  us  to  neglect  our 
duty.  Literary  capriciousness  in  reflection  is  cer- 
tainly something  injurious,  and  must  obscure  the  intel- 
lect ;  but  this  same  capriciousness,  applied  to  the 
maxims  of  the  Will  is  something  criminal,  and  must 


176 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


inevitably  deprave  the  heart.  And  aesthetic  refine- 
ment renders  man  prone  to  this  dangerous  extreme,  as 
he  commits  himself  cxclusiccly  to  the  feeling  of  Beauty, 
and  makes  taste  the  unrestrained  legislator  for  his 
Will. 

The  moral  determinateness  of  man  demands  a  com- 
plete independence  of  the  Will  from  every  influence 
of  sensuous  impulses  ;  and  taste,  as  we  know,  labors 
unceasingly,  to  strengthen  the  alliance  between  reason 
and  sense.  It  is  true,  it  thus  succeeds  in  ennobling 
the  desires,  and  bringing  them  into  greater  harmony 
with  the  demands  of  reason  ;  but  from  this  very  suc- 
cess great  danger  may  finally  result  for  morality. 

From  the  fact,  that  in  man  aesthetically  improved, 
the  imagination  in  its  freest  play  directs  itself  ac- 
cording to  laic,  and  that  the  sense  is  pleased  not  with- 
out enjoying  definiteness  of  the  reason,  it  follows  that 
the  reciprocal  service  is  demanded  of  the  reason,  to 
direct  itself  in  the  gravity  of  its  legislation  according 
to  the  interest  of  the  imagination,  and  not  to  govern 
the  Will  without  determinateness  of  the  sensuous  im- 
pulse. The  moral  obligation  of  the  Will,  which  is 
valid  entirely  without  condition,  is  imperceptibly  re- 
garded as  a  contract,  which  is  binding  upon  one  part 
so  long  only  as  the  other  observes  it.  The  accidental 
agreement  of  duty  with  inclination  is  finally  established 
as  a  necessary  condition,  and  thus  the  source  of  mo- 
rality is  poisoned. 

How  the  character  falls  by  degrees  into  this  corrup- 
tion, may  be  made  intelligible  in  the  following  manner. 


LIMITS   OF  TASTE. 


177 


So  long  as  man  is  a  savage,  and  his  impulses  only 
meet  material  objects,  and  an  egoism  of  the  lower  kind 
conducts  his  actions,  sensuousness  can  only  be  dan- 
gerous to  morality  through  its  blind  strength,  and  can 
oppose  the  prescriptions  of  reason  merely  as  a  force. 
The  voice  of  justice,  moderation,  humanity,  is  drowned 
in  the  tumult  of  desires.  He  is  terrible  in  his  revenge, 
since  he  is  fearfully  sensible  to  an  injury.  He  robs 
and  murders,  since  his  appetites  are  too  powerful  for 
the  weak  restraints  of  reason.  He  is  a  furious  beast 
towards  others,  since  the  native  impulse  still  bestially 
sways  himself. 

But  if  he  exchanges  this  savage  state  of  nature  for 
the  condition  of  refinement,  if  taste  ennobles  his  im- 
pulses, directs  them  to  worthier  objects  in  the  moral 
world,  and  tempers  their  rude  sallies  by  the  rule  of 
Beauty,  it  may  happen  that  those  impulses  which  be- 
fore were  only  fearful  through  their  blind  violence, 
become  far  more  dangerous  to  morality  of  character, 
through  an  appearance  of  dignity  and  an  assumed  au- 
thority, and  exercise  a  far  worse  tyranny  over  the 
savage  beneath  the  mask  of  innocence,  nobleness  and 
purity. 

The  man  of  taste  readily  extricates  himself  from  the 
uncouth  yoke  of  instinct.  He  subdues  his  impulse 
according  to  the  pleasure  of  the  reason,  and  is  sensi- 
ble enough  to  leave  the  objects  of  his  desires  to  be 
defined  by  the  reflective  spirit.  The  oftener  the  case 
occurs,  that  the  moral  and  aesthetic  judgment,  the  feel- 
ing of  morals  and  of  Beauty,  coincide  in  the  same 
12 


178 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


object  and  meet  in  the  same  decision,  the  more  will 
the  reason  be  inclined  to  consider  an  instinct  so  highly 
spiritualized  as  one  of  its  own,  and  finally  resign  to  it 
with  unlimited  authority  the  helm  of  the  Will. 

So  long  as  a  possibility  exists  that  inclination  and 
duty  may  coincide  in  the  same  object  of  desire,  this 
representation  of  the  moral  feeling  by  the  feeling  of 
Beauty  can  be  productive  of  no  positive  harm,  although 
strictly  considered,  nothing  is  gained  thereby  for  the 
morality  of  single  actions.  But  the  case  is  materially 
altered,  if  the  interest  of  perception  and  of  reason  is 
diverse  —  if  duty  demands  conduct  which  is  repugnant 
to  taste,  or  if  the  latter  perceives  itself  attracted  to  an 
object,  which  the  reason,  as  moral  arbitress,  is  forced 
to  reject. 

At  this  point  necessity  at  once  interferes,  to  separate 
the  claims  of  the  moral  and  aesthetic  sense,  which  so 
long  a  conjunction  blended  almost  inextricably,  to  de- 
fine their  mutual  privileges,  and  to  discover  the  true 
organ  of  power  in  the  mind.  But  such  an  uninter- 
rupted representation  has  induced  a  forgetfulness  of  it, 
and  the  long  custom  of  immediately  obeying  the  sug- 
gestions of  taste,  and  of  profiting  thereby,  must  grad- 
ually have  acquired  for  it  a  show  of  right.  From  the 
uprightness  with  which  the  taste  has  exercised  its 
control  over  the  Will,  one  could  not  fail  to  concede  a 
certain  respect  for  its  claims,  and  it  is  this  very  respect 
of  which  inclination  now  takes  advantage,  with  cap- 
tious logic,  at  the  expense  of  conscientious  duty. 

Respect  is  a  feeling  which  can  only  be  entertained 


LIMITS   OF  TASTE. 


179 


for  law,  and  what  is  in  accordance  with  it.  Whatever 
can  demand  respect,  lays  claim  to  absolute  homage. 
The  elevated  inclination  which  has  known  how  to  ob- 
tain a  surreptitious  respect,  will  then  be  no  more  sub- 
ordinate to,  but  coordinate  with,  the  reason.  It  will 
pass  for  no  treacherous  subject,  who  rebels  against  his 
sovereign  ;  it  will  be  regarded  as  a  majesty,  and,  like 
peer  with  peer,  act  with  the  reason  as  moral  lawgiver. 
Then,  as  it  pretends,  the  balance  is  equal  according 
to  Right ;  and  how  much  is  it  not  to  be  feared  lest 
Interest  may  turn  the  scale  ! 

Of  all  the  inclinations  which  spring  from  the  feeling 
of  Beauty  and  are  the  property  of  cultivated  souls, 
none  recommends  itself  so  highly  to  the  moral  feeling 
as  the  elevated  passion  of  Love,  and  none  is  more 
fruitful  in  sentiments,  which  suit  the  true  dignity  of 
man.  To  what  heights  does  she  not  bear  human  na- 
ture, and  what  divine  sparks  can  she  not  often  elicit 
from  common  souls  !  Each  selfish  inclination  is  con- 
sumed by  its  holy  fire,  and  principles  themselves  can 
hardly  preserve  the  purity  of  the  mind  more  faithfully, 
than  love  watches  the  nobleness  of  the  heart.  Often, 
while  those  are  still  struggling,  love  has  already  con- 
quered for  them,  and  by  its  all-powerful  energy  accel- 
erated resolutions,  which  mere  duty  would  have  in 
vain  demanded  of  weak  humanity.  Who  could  well 
distrust  a  passion,  which  so  powerfully  protects  all  that 
is  excellent  in  human  nature,  and  so  triumphantly 
withstands  egoism,  the  sworn  foe  of  all  morality  ? 


180 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE, 


But  one  would  hardly  trust  the  guidance  of  this 
conductor,  unless  already  secured  from  danger  by  a 
better.  The  case  might  occur,  when  the  beloved  ob- 
ject is  unhappy  —  unhappy  on  our  own  account,  when 
it  depends  upon  us  to  make  him  happy  by  the  sacrifice 
of  some  moral  scruples.  "  Should  we  allow  him  to 
suffer,  for  the  sake  of  preserving  a  pure  conscience  ? 
Does  a  disinterested,  magnanimous  passion  allow 
this — a  passion  forgetting  itself  in,  and  resigning 
everything  to,  its  object  ?  It  is  true,  it  runs  counter 
to  our  conscience,  to  make  use  of  immortal  means  for 
the  purpose  of  aiding  him —  but  do  we  call  that  loving, 
when  we  still  think  of  ourselves  in  the  grief  of  a  be- 
loved one  ?  Are  we  not  more  anxious  for  ourselves 
than  for  the  object  of  our  love,  since  we  would  rather 
see  him  unhappy,  than  be  so  ourselves  through  the 
reproaches  of  conscience  ? "  With  such  sophistry 
can  this  passion  undervalue  the  moral  voice  within  us, 
as  a  prompting  of  self-love,  if  it  opposes  its  interests, 
and  represent  our  moral  dignity  as  an  element  in  our 
happiness,  which  we  are  at  liberty  to  alienate.  If  our 
character  is  not  safely  established  by  good  principles, 
we  shall  act  dishonorably  with  all  the  soaring  of  an 
exalted  imagination,  and  shall  think  to  have  acquired 
a  glorious  victory  over  our  self-love,  when,  exactly  the 
reverse,  we  are  its  miserable  victim.  In  the  well 
known  French  romance,  Liaisons  dangereuses,  we 
find  a  very  striking  example  of  this  deception,  which 
the  love  of  an  otherwise  pure  and  beautiful  spirit  prac- 
tises.    An  unguarded  moment  surprises  the  Presi- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


181 


dentess  De  Tourvel,  and  then  she  seeks  to  quiet  her 
afflicted  heart,  by  the  thought  that  she  has  sacrificed 
her  virtue  to  generosity. 

The  so-called  imperfect  duties  are  those  especially 
which  the  feeling  of  Beauty  protects,  and  not  seldom 
maintains  against  the  perfect.  As  they  defer  far  more 
to  the  caprice  of  the  subject,  and  at  the  same  time 
reflect  a  glow  of  meritoriousness,  they  recommend 
themselves  to  the  taste  more  unduly  than  the  perfect 
duties,  which  govern  absolutely  with  stern  necessita- 
tion.  How  many  men  allow  themselves  to  be  unjust, 
for  the  sake  of  being  generous  !  How  many  are  there 
not,  who  violate  the  integrity  of  duty,  in  order  to  per- 
form a  single  action  well,  and  inversely ;  who  sooner 
pardon  an  untruth  than  an  indelicacy,  sooner  a  viola- 
tion of  humanity  than  of  honor  —  who  destroy  their 
bodies  in  order  to  hasten  the  perfection  of  their  spirits, 
and  debase  their  character  to  adorn  their  intellect ! 
How  many  are  there  not,  who  are  not  appalled  at  de- 
pravity, if  a  praiseworthy  end  is  to  be  attained,  who 
pursue  an  ideal  of  political  happiness  through  all  the 
horrors  of  anarchy,  trample  laws  in  the  dust  to  make 
way  for  better,  and  scruple  not  to  devote  the  present 
generation  to  misery,  in  order  to  secure  thereby  the 
happiness  of  the  next !  The  apparent  disinterested- 
ness of  certain  virtues  gives  them  an  air  of  purity, 
which  sufficiently  emboldens  them  to  defiance  in  the 
very  face  of  duty  ;  'and  the  fancy  of  many  a  one  de- 
ceives him  with  the  singular  desire  to  be  superior  to 
morality  and  more  rational  than  reason. 


182 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


The  man  of  refined  taste  is,  in  this  particular,  sus- 
ceptible to  a  moral  depravity,  from  which  the  rude 
child  of  nature,  by  his  very  rudeness,  is  secured. 
With  the  latter,  the  difference  between  that  which  the 
sense  requires  and  that  which  duty  demands,  is  so 
marked  and  apparent,  and  his  desires  partake  so  little 
of  the  spiritual,  that  even  if  they  still  govern  him, 
however  despotically,  they  cannot  acquire  any  consid- 
eration in  his  eyes.  Then  if  overweening  sensuous- 
ness  incites  him  to  an  unjust  action,  he  may  indeed 
succumb  to  the  temptation,  but  he  cannot  conceal 
from  himself  that  he  errs,  and  so  he  does  homage  to 
reason  at  the  very  moment  when  he  acts  in  opposition 
to  its  prescriptions.  On  the  contrary,  the  refined  dis- 
ciple of  art  will  not  confess  that  he  sins,  and  prefers 
to  denie  it,  in  order  to  pacify  his  conscience.  He 
would  fain  yield  to  desire,  it  is  true,  but  without 
thereby  sinking  in  his  own  esteem.  Now  how  does 
he  effect  this  ?  He  first  destroys  the  higher  authority, 
which  withstands  his  inclination  —  and  before  he 
transgresses  the  law,  he  brings  into  disrepute  the  com- 
petency of  the  lawgiver.  Would  it  be  believed  that  a 
depraved  will  could  so  pervert  the  intellect  ?  All  dig- 
nity to  which  an  inclination  can  lay  claim,  is  only 
owing  to  its  connexion  with  the  reason,  and  it  is  now 
both  blinded  and  bold  enough  to  arrogate  this  dignity 
even  in  its  contest  with  the  reason  —  nay,  to  make  use 
of  it  even  against  the  authority  of  «the  reason. 

So  dangerous  may  it  prove  for  morality  of  character, 
if  a  too  intimate  communion  reigns  between  the  sensu- 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


183 


ous  and  moral  impulses,  which  can  be  completely 
united  only  in  the  ideal,  and  never  in  reality.  It  is 
true,  sensuousness  hazards  nothing  by  this  connexion, 
as  it  possesses  nothing  which  it  must  not  resign  when 
duty  calls,  and  the  reason  demands  the  sacrifice.  But 
so  much  more  is  hazarded  with  the  reason,  as  moral 
lawgiver,  if  it  allows  the' inclination  to  present  it  with 
what  it  might  demand  from  it;  for  then  the  feeling  of 
obligation  is  easily  lost  under  the  show  of  voluntari- 
ness, and  a  gift  is  denied,  if  the  sensuousness  should 
ever  find  its  performance  irksome.  Then  it  is  far 
safer  for  morality  of  character,  if  the  representation  of 
the  moral  feeling  by  the  feeling  of  Beauty  is,  at  least 
for  a  moment,  abolished  —  if  the  reason  frequently 
governs  directly,  and  reveals  to  the  Will  its  true  sove- 
reign. 

It  may  here  be  justly  said,  that  genuine  morality  is 
preserved  only  in  the  school  of  adversity,  and  a  state 
of  continuous  prosperity  may  easily  prove  a  quicksand 
to  virtue.  I  call  him  fortunate,  who,  in  order  to  en- 
joy, is  not  compelled  to  do  unjustly,  and  in  order  to  act 
justly,  is  not  compelled  to  abstain.  The  uninterrupt- 
edly prosperous  man  never  then  sees  duty  face  to  face, 
since  his  lawful  and  well-regulated  inclinations  always 
anticipate  the  injunctions  of  reason,  and  no  temptation 
to  an  infraction  of  law  brings  the  law  to  his  remem- 
brance. Only  governed  by  the  sense  of  Beauty,  the 
vicegerent  of  reason  in  the  world  of  sense,  he  will  de- 
scend to  his  grave,  without  perceiving  the  dignity  of 
his  destiny.    The  unfortunate  man,  on  the  contrary, 


184 


LIMITS    OF  TASTE. 


if  he  is  at  the  same  time  a  virtuous  man,  enjoys  the 
noble  privilege  of  communing  directly  with  the  divine 
majesty  of  law,  and  while  yet  a  man,  of  evincing  the 
freedom  of  a  spirit,  as  his  own  virtue  is  dependent 
upon  no  inclination. 


UPON 


THE   MORAL  USE 


ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


AESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


The  author  of  the  treatise  Upon  the  Danger  of 
Aesthetic  Manners*  has  with  justice  suspected  a  mo- 
rality, which  is  founded  only  upon  the  feeling  of 
Beauty,  and  has  no  other  guarantee  than  Taste.  But 
still,  a  pure  and  lively  feeling  for  Beauty  evidently  has 
the  most  salutary  influence  upon  the  moral  life  :  which 
point  I  will  now  discuss. 

If  I  ascribe  to  Taste  the  merit  of  contributing  to 
the  advance  of  Morality,  I  do  not  mean  that  the  sym- 
pathy which  a  good  Taste  takes  in  an  action,  can 
make  that  action  a  moral  one.  Morality  need  have 
no  other  ground  than  itself.  Taste  can  favor  moral 
conduct,  as  I  hope  to  prove  in  the  present  essay,  but 
its  influence  can  never  create  that  which  is  moral. 

The  case  is  the  same  with  an  internal  and  moral 

1  The  Treatise  here  alluded  to  was  inserted  by  the  author  among 
his  prose  writings,  under  the  title  of  the  preceding  essay,  of  which 
it  is  a  part.    It  was  first  published  separately  in  the  Horen:  1795. 


188 


.ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


Freedom,  as  with  that  which  is  external  and  physical  : 
I  act  freely  in  the  latter  sense,  only  when  I  obey  my 
Will  alone,  independent  of  every  foreign  influence. 
But  after  all,  I  may  be  indebted  for  the  possibility  to 
follow  my  Will  unconstrained,  to  a  cause  distinct  from 
myself,  as  soon  as  it  is  understood  that  the  latter  can 
restrict  my  will.  Just  so  may  I  finally  owe  the  possi- 
bility to  act  well,  to  a  cause  distinct  from  my  reason, 
as  soon  as  that  cause  is  considered  as  a  force  which 
may  restrict  my  mental  freedom.  It  may  then  be  said 
with  equal  propriety,  that  a  man  can  receive  freedom 
from  another,  although  freedom  itself  consists  in  his 
being  exempt  from  accommodating  himself  to  others, 
and  that  Taste  may  subserve  virtue,  although  it  is  the 
essence  of  virtue  to  exist  independently  of  foreign  aid. 

An  action  by  no  means  ceases  to  be  free,  because 
that  which  might  restrict  it  fortunately  remains  inac- 
tive, if  we  only  know  that  the  actor  followed  his  own 
Will,  without  regard  to  a  foreign  one.  In  like  man- 
ner, morality  may  still  be  predicated  of  an  internal 
action,  although  the  temptations  which  might  have 
vitiated  it  are  fortunately  wanting,  if  we  only  perceive 
that  the  actor  followed  the  prescriptions  of  his  reason, 
to  the  exclusion  of  foreign  motives.  \The  freedom  of 
an  external  action  depends  only  upon  its  immediate 
origination  from  the  Will  of  the  person  :  the  morality 
of  an  internal  action,  only  upon  the  immediate  defini- 
tion of  the  Will  by  the  law  of  reason,  j 

It  may  be  easier  or  harder  for  us  to  act  as  free  men, 
according  as  we  impinge  upon  forces,  which  oppose 


AESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


189 


our  freedom  and  require  to  be  subdued.  So  far  there 
are  degrees  of  Freedom.  Our  freedom  is  greater,  at 
least  more  apparent,  if  we  maintain  it  against  the  most 
violent  opposition  of  hostile  forces ;  but  still  it  does 
not  cease,  if  our  Will  finds  no  opposition,  or  if  a  foreign 
power  interferes  and  annihilates  this  opposition  with- 
out our  cooperation. 

Just  so  is  it  with  Morality.  It  may  cost  us  more  or 
less  of  a  struggle  to  obey  the  reason  directly,  accord- 
ing as  impulses  stir  within  us  which  conflict  with  its 
demands,  and  which  we  must  abjure.  So  far  there 
are  degrees  of  Morality.  Our  morality  is  greater,  at 
least  more  salient,  if  we  directly  obey  the  reason,  not- 
withstanding impulses  however  great ;  but  still  it  does 
not  cease,  if  we  find  no  enticement  to  do  the  contrary, 
or  if  something,  which  is  not  our  power  of  will,  weak- 
ens this  enticement.  Enough,  that  we  do  well  mo- 
rally, when  we  do  so  only  because  it  is  moral,  and 
without  first  asking  ourselves  whether  it  is  likewise 
agreeable,  —  even  if  we  suppose  a  probability  to  exist 
that  we  might  do  otherwise,  if  it  gave  us  pain  or 
abridged  our  enjoyment. 

To  the  honor  of  human  nature  be  it  admitted,  that 
no  man  can  sink  so  low  as  to  prefer  the  bad,  only  be- 
cause it  is  bad ;  but  that  every  one  without  distinction 
would  prefer  the  good,  because  it  is  good,  if  it  did  not 
contingently  exclude  the  agreeable,  or  include  the  dis- 
agreeable. All  immorality  in  actual  life  appears, 
then,  to  result  from  the  collision  of  the  good  with  the 
agreeable,  or  what  is  the  same  thing,  of  the  desires 


190  ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 

with  the  reason  —  and  to  have  its  source,  on  the  one 
hand,  in  the  strength  of  sensuous  impulses,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  the  weakness  of  the  moral  volition. 

Then  Morality  can  not  only  be  hindered,  but  also 
promoted,  in  a  twofold  manner.  Either  the  party  of 
the  reason  and  the  power  of  moral  volition  must  be 
strengthened,  so  that  no  temptation  can  overmatch 
it  —  or  the  force  of  temptation  must  be  broken,  that 
the  weaker  reason  and  the  weaker  moral  volition  may 
yet  be  superior  to  it. 

It  might  indeed  appear  as  if  morality  itself  would 
gain  nothing  by  the  latter  operation,  since  no  change 
obtains  thereby  in  the  volition,  upon  the  quality  of 
which  alone  depends  the  morality  of  an  action.  But 
that  change  is  by  no  means  necessary  in  the  admitted 
case,  where  we  do  not  suppose  an  evil  will,  which 
must  be  changed,  but  only  a  good  one,  which  is  weak. 
And  this  weak  moral  will  attains,  in  the  way  men- 
tioned, to  activity,  which  perhaps  would  not  take 
place,  if  stronger  impulses  counterworked  it.  But 
morality  really  exists  where  a  good  will  is  the  ground 
of  an  action.  I  do  not  hesitate,  then,  to  lay  down  the 
principle,  that  that  truly  advances  morality,  which 
destroys  the  opposition  between  inclination  and  good- 
ness. 

The  natural  internal  foe  of  Morality  is  the  sensuous 
impulse,  which,  as  soon  as  an  object  is  presented, 
strives  after  satisfaction,  and  opposes  the  prescriptions 
of  the  reason,  as  soon  as  it  finds  them  inconvenient. 


ESTHETIC    MANNERS.  191 

This  sensuous  impulse  is  incessantly  employed  in 
drawincr  over  to  its  interest  the  Will,  which  still  re- 
mains under  moral  laws,  and  has  upon  it  the  obliga- 
tion, ever  to  be  in  contradiction  to  the  demands  of  the 
reason. 

But  the  sensuous  impulse  requires  no  moral  law, 
and  will  have  its  object  realized  through  the  Will, 
whatever  the  reason  may  say  thereto.  This- tendency 
of  our  appetitive  power,  to  rule  the  will  directly  and 
regardless  of  a  higher  law,  conflicts  with  our  moral 
determinateness,  and  is  the  strongest  rival  that  man 
must  oppose  in  his  moral  action.  Desire  legislates 
directly  for  rude  dispositions,  who  are  deficient  both 
in  moral  and  aesthetic  culture ;  and  they  act  only  ac- 
cording to  the  pleasure  of  the  senses.  The  reason 
legislates  directly  for  moral  dispositions,  though  defi- 
cient in  aesthetic  culture ;  and  they  overcome  tempta- 
tion only  through  a  regard  for  duty.  In  spirits  that 
possess  aesthetic  refinement  there  is  another  court, 
(resort  —  Instanz),  which  not  seldom  compensates  for 
virtue,  where  that  is  deficient,  and  assists  it  where  it 
exists.    This  court  is  Taste. 

Taste  demands  moderation  and  decency  :  it  abhors 
everything  that  is  hard,  angular,  violent,  and  inclines 
to  all  that  unites  with  ease  and  harmony.  A  correct 
ton,  which  is  nothing  else  than  an  eesthetic  law,  makes 
a  well  recognized  demand  of  every  civilized  man,  that 
he  should  listen  to  the  voice  of  reason  even  in  the 
storm  of  emotion,  and  set  bounds  to  the  rude  outbreaks 
of  nature.    This  constraint  which  the  civilized  man 


192  .ESTHETIC    MANNERS  • 

imposes  upon  himself  in  the  expression  of  his  feelings, 
secures  to  him  a  measure  of  dominion  over  those  pas- 
sions ;  at  least,  it  acquires  for  him  a  facility  in  inter- 
rupting his  condition  of  mere  passivity  by  an  exertion 
of  self-activity,  and  in  restraining  the  rash  transition 
of  feeling  into  action,  by  reflection.  It  is  true,  every- 
thing which  breaks  the  blind  violence  of  passion, 
evolves  as.  yet  no  virtue  (for  that  must  always  be  its 
own  work),  but  it  affords  space  to  the  Will,  to  apply 
itself  to  virtue.  But  this  victory  of  taste  over  rude 
passion  is  by  no  means  a  moral  action,  neither  is  the 
freedom,  which  taste  gains  here  for  the  Will,  a  moral 
freedom.  Taste  liberates  the  mind  from  the  yoke  of 
instinct  only  so  far  as  it  substitutes  its  own  fetters  ; 
and  while  it  disarms  the  first  and  the  open  foe  of  moral 
freedom,  it  not  seldom  remains  as  the  second  foe,  and 
all  the  more  dangerous  under  the  guise  of  friendship. 
That  is  to  say,  Taste  governs  the  mind  only  by  the 
lure  of  satisfaction  —  a  noble  satisfaction,  to  be  sure, 
since  the  reason  is  its  source  —  but  no  morality  exists 
where  satisfaction  determines  the  Will. 

Still  something  of  magnitude  has  been  gained  by 
this  interference  of  taste  in  the  operations  of  the  Will. 
All  those  material  inclinations  and  rude  desires,  which 
so  often  oppose  themselves  obstinately  and  stormfully 
to  the  practice  of  goodness,  have  been  outlawed  from 
the  mind  by  Taste,  and  in  their  stead  nobler  and 
milder  inclinations  engrafted,  which  relate  to  order, 
harmony  and  perfection  :  and  although  these  are  no 
virtues,  yet  they  share  one  object  with  virtue.    If  now 


r.  \  m 

ESTHETIC    MANNERS.  193 

desire  speaks,  it  must  endure  a  severe  scrutiny  from 
the  sense  of  Beauty  :  and  if  now  the  reason  speaks  and 
enjoins  actions  of  order,  harmony  and  perfection,  it 
finds  not  only  no  opposition  from  the  side  of  inclina- 
tion, but  rather  the  liveliest  concurrence.  If,  then, 
we  survey  the  different  forms  in  which  morality  may 
be  expressed,  we  can  refer  them  all  to  these  two. 
Either  sensuousness  makes  the  move  in  the  mind,  that 
something  should  or  should  not  take  place,  and  the 
will  takes  action  thereupon,  according  to  the  law  of 
reason  —  or  the  reason  makes  the  move,  and  the  Will 
obeys  it,  without  making  inquiry  of  the  senses. 

The  Grecian  princess,  Anna  Comnena,  tells  us  of  a 
captured  rebel,  whom  her  father,  Alexius,  while  he 
was  one  of  his  predecessor's  generals,  was  commis- 
sioned to  escort  to  Constantinople.  On  the  way,  as 
both  are  riding  together  alone,  Alexius  desires  to  make 
a  halt  under  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  to  recover  from  the 
heat  of  the  sun.  Sleep  soon  overpowered  him  :  but 
the  other,  troubled  by  the  fear  of  expected  death,  re- 
mained awake.  While  Alexius  is  lying  in  a  deep 
slumber,  the  rebel  perceives  his  sword  which  was 
swung  over  a  branch,  and  is  tempted  to  gain  his  free- 
dom by  the  murder  of  his  keeper.  Anna  Comnena 
gives  us  to  understand  that  she  does  not  know  what 
would  have  happened,  if  her  father  had  not  luckily 
awaked.  Now  here  was  a  moral  case  of  the  first  kind, 
where  the  sensuous  impulse  had  the  first  voice,  before 
the  reason  pronounced  sentence  upon  it  as  arbiter. 
13 


194 


ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


Had  the  former  overcome  the  temptation  out  of  pure 
regard  for  rectitude,  there  would  be  no  doubt  that  it 
had  acted  morally. 

When  the  Duke  Leopold  von  Braunschweig,  of  il- 
lustrious memory,  deliberated  on  the  banks  of  the 
swollen  Oder,  whether  he  should  trust  himself  to  the 
impetuous  stream  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  in  order  to 
rescue  some  unfortunates  who  were  helpless  without 
him,  —  and  when  he,  I  suppose  this  case,  entirely  from 
a  consciousness  of  duty,  sprang  into  the  skiff  which  no 
one  else  was  willing  to  enter  —  none  can  deny  that  he 
acted  morally.  The  duke  was  here  in  a  situation  the 
reverse  of  the  former  one.  Here  the  representation  of 
duty  preceded,  and  then  the  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion excited  an  opposition  to  the  prescription  of  the 
reason.  But  in  both  cases,  the  will  conducted  in  the 
same  manner,  obeying  the  reason  directly :  conse- 
quently both  are  moral. 

But  would  both  cases  remain  so  still,  if  we  allowed 
Taste  to  exert  an  influence  ? 

Suppose,  then,  that  the  first,  who  is  tempted  to  com- 
mit a  bad  action,  and  forbears  out  of  regard  to  recti- 
tude, has  a  taste  so  cultivated,  that  everything  infamous 
and  violent  excites  an  abhorrence  which  nothing  can 
overcome  :  his  pure  aesthetic  sense  will  reject  anything 
infamous,  the  moment  that  the  instinct  for  preservation 
urges  it  —  then  it  will  not  come  before  the  moral  bar, 
before  the  conscience,  but  be  already  decided  in  a  pre- 
vious court.  But  the  aesthetic  sense  governs  the  Will 
by  feelings  only,  and  not  by  laws.    That  man,  then, 


ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


195 


renounces  the  agreeable  feeling  of  life  preserved,  be- 
cause he  cannot  bear  the  disagreeable  one  of  having 
perpetrated  a  crime.  The  whole  matter  is  thus  de- 
cided in  the  court  of  feeling,  and  the  man's  conduct, 
however  legal  it  is,  is  morally  indifferent  and  nothing 
but  a  beautiful  operation  of  nature. 

Suppose  now,  that  the  other,  whose  reason  prescribes 
something  to  be  done,  against  which  a  natural  instinct 
rebels,  has  an  equally  delicate  sense  of  Beauty,  charmed 
by  all  that  is  great  and  perfect :  the  moment  that  the 
reason  makes  its  demand,  the  sensuousness  will  pass 
over  to  it,  and  he  will  do  that  with  inclination,  which, 
without  this  fine  sensibility  to  Beauty,  he  would  be 
compelled  to  do  against  inclination.  But  shall  we,  on 
this  account,  esteem  him  less  perfect  ?  Certainly  not, 
for  he  acts  originally  out  of  pure  regard  for  the  pre- 
scription of  reason  :  and  that  he  obeys  this  prescription 
gladly,  does  not  diminish  the  moral  purity  of  his  deed. 
Then  morally  he  is  just  as  perfect,  but  physically  he 
is  far  more  perfect :  for  he  is  a  much  more  appropriate 
subject  for  virtue. 

Then  Taste  gives  the  mind  a  tendency  appropriate 
for  virtue,  as  it  removes  all  those  inclinations  which 
hinder  the  latter,  and  excites  those  which  are  favorable. 
Taste  cannot  be  detrimental  to  true  virtue,  if,  in  all 
the  cases  where  native  impulse  makes  the  first  move, 
it  tries  at  once  and  dismisses  from  its  bar  that  upon 
which  the  conscience  must  otherwise  pronounce  sen- 
tence, —  thus  being  the  reason,  that  among  the  actions 
of  those  who  are  governed  by  it,  many  more  are  found 
to  be  indifferent,  than  truly  moral.    For  human  excel- 


196 


.ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


lence  by  no  means  depends  upon  the  greater  sum  of 
single,  rigorously  moral,  actions,  but  upon  the  greater 
congruence  of  the  whole  native  disposition  with  the 
moral  law,  and  it  is  a  small  recommendation  to  an  age 
or  a  people,  if  we  hear  much  among  them  concerning 
morality  and  single  moral  deeds :  rather  may  we  hope 
that  in  the  climax  of  culture,  if  such  a  thing  can  be 
imagined,  there  will  be  little  talk  about  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  Taste  can  avail  true  virtue,  positively,  in 
all  the  cases  where  the  reason  makes  the  first  move, 
and  is  in  danger  of  being  outvoted  by  the  stronger 
force  of  the  native  impulses.  For,  in  this  case,  it  re- 
conciles our  sensuousness  with  the  interest  of  duty, 
and  thus  makes  a  meagre  degree  of  moral  volition  ade- 
quate  to  the  practice  of  virtue. 

Now  if  Taste,  as  such,  injures  true  morality  in  no 
case,  but  rather  openly  assists  it  in  many,  the  circum- 
stance that  it  promotes  in  the  highest  degree  the  legal- 
ity of  our  conduct,  must  possess  great  weight.  Sup- 
pose that  aesthetic  culture  could  not  in  the  least  con- 
tribute to  make  us  better  intentioned,  it  would,  at  any 
rate,  render  us  skilful  so  to  act,  even  without  a  true 
moral  intention,  as  a  moral  intention  would  have 
caused  us  to  act.  It  is  true,  our  actions  concern  by 
no  means  the  court  of  morality,  excepting  as  they  are 
an  expression  of  our  intentions  :  but,  reversely,  our  in- 
tentions concern  by  no  means  the  physical  court,  and 
the  plan  of  nature,  excepting  as  they  induce  actions 
which  further  the  design  of  nature.  But  now  both  the 
physical  sphere  of  force,  and  the  moral  sphere  of  law, 
coincide  so  strictly,  and  are  so  intimately  blended, 


^ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


197 


that  actions,  which,  according  to  their  Form,  coincide 
with  a  moral  design,  at  the  same  time  include  in  their 
contents,  a  coincidence  with  a  physical  design  ;  and  as 
the  whole  natural  structure  only  seems  to  exist,  in  order 
to  make  goodness,  the  highest  of  all  designs,  possible, 
so  goodness  may  in  turn  be  used  as  a  means  to  sustain 
the  natural  structure.  The  order  of  nature,  then,  is 
made  dependent  upon  the  morality  of  our  intentions, 
and  we  cannot  offend  against  the  moral  world  without 
at  the  same  time  producing  disorder  in  the  physical. 

Now  if  we  can  never  expect  human  nature,  so  long 
as  it  is  human  nature,  to  act  as  pure  reason,  uniformly 
and  steadfastly,  without  interruption  or  relapse,  and 
never  to  offend  against  moral  order  :  if,  with  every 
conviction  of  the  necessity  and  of  the  possibility  of 
pure  virtue,  we  must  admit,  how  very  contingent  its 
actual  practice  is,  and  how  little  we  need  rely  upon  the 
invincibility  of  our  better  principles  :  if  we  are  re- 
minded, by  this  consciousness  of  our  uncertainty,  that 
the  structure  of  nature  suffers  by  each  of  our  moral 
lapses  :  if  we  call  to  mind  all  this,  it  would  be  wickedly 
bold  to  hazard  the  weal  of  the  world  upon  the  chance 
of  our  virtue.  An  obligation  results  rather  therefrom, 
for  us  at  least  to  satisfy  the  physical  design  by  the  con- 
tents of  our  actions,  even  if  we  should  not  do  as  much 
for  the  moral  design  by  their  form,  —  at  least  to  dis- 
charge to  the  design  of  nature,  as  perfect  instruments, 
the  debt  which  we  owe  to  reason,  as  perfect  Persons, 
in  order  not  to  be  disgraced  at  the  same  time  before 
both  tribunals.    If,  because  the  legality  of  our  conduct 


198 


ESTHETIC  MANNERS. 


has  no  moral  worth,  we  would  make  no  regulations  for 
it,  the  universal  design  might  thereby  be  annulled ;  and 
before  we  were  ready  with  our  principles,  all  the  ties 
of  society  would  be  dissolved.  But  the  more  contin- 
gent our  morality  is,  the  more  necessary  is  it  that  we 
should  devise  precautions  for  our  legality,  and.  an  in- 
considerate or  proud  neglect  of  this  can  be  morally  im- 
puted to  us.  Just  as  the  insane  man  who  divines  his 
approaching  paroxysm,  avoids  all  knives,  and  volunta- 
rily surrenders  himself  to  be  bound,  in  order  not  to  be 
answerable,  in  a  condition  of  sanity,  for  the  crimes  of 
his  disordered  brain,  —  so  are  we  obliged  to  bind  our- 
selves by  Religion  and  by  aesthetic  laws,  that  our  pas- 
sion, in  the  periods  of  its  ascendency,  may  not  disturb 
the  physical  order. 

I  have  not  undesignedly  coupled  Religion  and  Taste 
together,  since  the  merit  is  common  to  both,  of  serving 
as  a  surrogate  for  true  virtue,  according  to  the  effect, 
if  not  equally  according  to  the  internal  value,  and  of 
insuring  legality  where  morality  cannot  be  expected. 
Although  a  higher  rank  in  the  order  of  spirits  would 
undoubtedly  invest  him,  who  needed  neither  the  al- 
lurements of  Beauty  nor  the  prospects  of  immortality, 
to  act  in  every  crisis  conformably  to  the  reason,  still 
the  well-known  limits  of  humanity  compel  the  most 
rigid  moralist,  to  remit,  in  the  application  of  his  system, 
somewhat  of  its  severity,  although  he  need  abate  no- 
thing from  it  in  theory,  and  to  secure  the  welfare  of  the 
human  race,  which  would  be  but  indifferently  cared  for 
by  our  contingent  virtue,  by  the  two  strong  anchors, 
Religion  and  Taste. 


UPON 


PATHOS. 


Representation  of  Sorrow — merely  as  Sorrow  — 
is  never  the  design  of  art,  but  it  is  extremely  important 
as  an  instrument  for  that  design.  The  representation 
of  the  supersensuous  is  the  final  design  of  art,  and  the 
tragic  art  in  particular  effects  this,  by  making  objective 
to  us  moral  independence  of  nature's  laws  in  the  condi- 
tion of  emotion.  The  principle  of  freedom  within  us 
is  only  cognoscible  through  the  opposition  it  makes  to 
the  violence  of  the  feelings ;  but  the  opposition  can  be 
estimated  only  according  to  the  force  of  the  attack.  If, 
then,  the  Intelligence  in  man  would  reveal  itself  as  a 
power  independent  of  nature,  the  latter  must  first  dis- 
play its  whole  strength  before  our  eyes.  The  sensu- 
ousness  must  suffer  deeply  and  violently  :  there  must 
be  Pathos,  in  order  that  the  reason  may  announce  its 
independence  and  represent  itself  as  acting. 

One  can  never  know,  whether  presence  of  mind  is 
an  effect  of  his  moral  power,  if  he  has  not  been  con- 
vinced that  it  is  not  an  effect  of  insensibility.    It  is  no 


202 


PATHOS. 


art,  to  be  master  over  feelings  which  ruffle  the 
soul's  surface  only  lightly  and  transiently;  but  to  pre- 
serve one's  mental  freedom  in  a  storm,  which  stirs  up 
the  whole  sensuous  nature,  requires  a  capacity  of  re- 
sistance, which  is  infinitely  more  sublime  than  any 
force  of  nature.  One  attains,  then,  to  a  representa- 
tion of  moral  freedom,  only  through  the  most  lively 
representation  of  suffering  nature  :  and  the  tragic  hero 
must  legitimate  himself  in  our  opinion  as  a  susceptible 
being,  before  we  can  do  homage  to  him  as  a  rational 
being,  and  believe  in  his  strength  of  spirit. 

Then  Pathos  is  the  first  and  indispensable  requisite 
for  a  tragic  artist,  and  he  is  allowed  to  carry  the  rep- 
resentation of  sorrow  as  far  as  it  can  be  done,  without  en- 
dangering his  Jinal  design,  without  suppression  of  the 
moral  freedom.  He  must,  so  to  speak,  give  his  hero 
or  his  reader  the  complete  freight  of  sorrow,  because 
otherwise  it  continues  to  be  problematic,  whether  his 
opposition  thereto  is  a  mental  action,  and  something 
positive,  and  not  rather  something  purely  negative,  and 
a  deficiency. 

The  latter  is  the  case  with  the  old  French  tragedy, 
in  which  we  are  very  seldom  or  never  shown  a  suffer- 
ing nature,  but  generally  see  only  cold,  declamatory 
poets,  or  comedians  upon  stilts.  The  frosty  tone  of 
declamation  extinguishes  all  true  nature,  and  their 
adorable  decency  makes  it  completely  impossible  for 
French  tragic  poets  to  portray  humanity  in  its  truth. 
Decency  falsifies,  even  in  its  own  proper  place,  the  ex 
pression  of  nature,  and  yet  the  art  demands  the  latter 


PATHOS. 


203 


imperatively.  We  can  hardly  believe  it  in  a  French 
tragic  hero,  that  he  suffers,  for  he  delivers  himself  con- 
cerning his  state  of  mind,  like  the  calmest  of  men  ;  and 
his  incessant  regard  to  the  impression  which  he  makes 
upon  others,  never  allows  him  to  leave  to  his  own  na- 
ture its  freedom.  The  kings,  princesses  and  heroes  of 
a  Corneille  and  Voltaire,  never  forget  their  rank  in  the 
most  vehement  passion,  and  they  put  off  their  humanity 
far  sooner  than  their  dignity.  They  are  like  the  kings 
and  emperors  in  the  old  picture-books,  who  go  to  bed 
with  their  crowns  on. 

How  different  with  the  Greeks,  and  those  of  the 
moderns  who  have  composed  in  their  spirit !  The 
Greek  is  never  ashamed  of  nature ;  he  allows  to  the 
sensuousness  its  full  rights,  and  yet  is  always  secure 
from  being  overcome  by  it.  His  deeper  and  correcter 
intellect  permits  him  to  distinguish  the  contingent, 
which  a  bad  taste  magnifies,  from  the  necessary.  But 
all  in  man,  that  is  not  humanity,  is  contingent.  The 
Grecian  artist  who  has  to  represent  a  Laocoon,  a  Niobe, 
a  Philoctetes,  knows  of  no  princess,  no  king,  and  no 
king's  son  :  he  busies  himself  only  with  men.  For  this 
reason  the  wise  sculptor  throws  aside  the  vestment,  and 
shows  us  only  naked  figures,  although  he  knows  very 
well  that  this  does  not  occur  in  actual  life.  He  es- 
teems clothing  as  something  contingent,  to  which  the 
necessary  need  never  be  postponed ;  and  the  laws  of 
propriety  or  of  need  are  not  the  laws  of  art.  The 
sculptor  should  and  will  show  us  men,  and  garments 
only  conceal  them  ;  he  is  right,  then,  in  throwing  them 
aside. 


204 


PATHOS. 


Just  as  the  Grecian  sculptor  rejects  the  useless  and 
troublesome  burden  of  attire,  in  order  to  make  room 
for  human  nature,  so  the  Grecian  poet  releases  his  men 
from  the  equally  useless  and  troublesome  constraint  of 
convenience,  and  from  all  the  frigid  laws  of  propriety, 
which  only  refine  upon  man  and  conceal  his  nature. 
In  the  Homeric  poetry  and  in  the  tragedians,  a  suffer- 
ing nature  speaks  in  true,  sincere  and  impressive  ac- 
cents, to  our  hearts ;  all  the  passions  have  a  free  play, 
and  no  feeling  is  restrained  by  the  rule  of  propriety. 
The  heroes  are  as  susceptible  as  other  men  to  all  the 
sorrows  of  humanity ;  and  this  is  the  very  thing  that 
makes  them  heroes,  that  they  feel  suffering  strongly 
and  deeply,  and  yet  are  not  vanquished  by  it.  They 
love  life  as  ardently  as  the  rest  of  us,  but  this  sentiment 
does  not  goveim  them  so  much  that  they  cannot  resign 
it,  if  the  duties  of  honor  or  of  manhood  demand  such  a 
surrender.  Philoctetes  fills  the  Grecian  stage  with  his 
lamentations ;  even  the  maddened  Hercules  does  not 
repress  his  grief.  Iphigenia,  destined  for  sacrifice, 
confesses  with  affecting  openness,  that  she  departs  from 
the  light  of  the  sun  with  sorrow.  The  Greek  never 
glories  in  sluggishness  and  indifference  to  suffering, 
but  in  endurance  of  all  its  forms.  Even  the  Gods  of 
the  Greek  must  pay  a  tribute  to  nature,  as  soon  as 
the  poet  of  humanity  would  bring  them  nearer  to  us. 
The  wounded  Mars  cries  for  pain  as  loud  as  ten  thou- 
sand men,  and  Venus,  scratched  by  a  lance,  mounts 
weeping  to  Olympus,  and  forswears  all  fights. 

This  tender  sensibility  for  suffering,  this  warm, 


PATHOS. 


205 


hearty,  genuine,  unconcealed  nature,  which  moves  us 
so  deeply  and  quickly  in  the  Grecian  works  of  art,  is 
a  model  for  all  artists  to  imitate,  and  a  law,  which  Gre- 
cian genius  has  prescribed  to  art.  It  is  nature  which 
eternally  makes  the  first  demand  upon  man,  and  which 
never  need  be  refused  :  for  the  man —  before  he  is  any- 
thing else  —  is  a  susceptible  being.  Reason  makes 
the  second  demand  upon  him,  for  he  is  a  rational-sus- 
ceptive being,  a  moral  person ;  and  it  is  the  duty  of 
the  reason  to  govern,  not  to  be  governed  by,  nature. 
Then  afterwards,  if  the  right  of  nature  has  been  first 
admitted,  and  if,  secondly,  the  reason  has  maintained 
its  own,  it  is  allowable  fox  propriety  to  make  the  third 
demand  upon  man,  and  to  enjoin  upon  him  regard  for 
society,  in  the  expression  of  his  feelings  as  well  as  his 
intentions,  that  he  may  appear  as  a  civilized  being. 

The  first  law  of  tragic  art  was,  representation  of  suf- 
fering nature.  The  second  is,  representation  of  moral 
opposition  to  suffering. 

Emotion,  as  emotion,  is  something  indifferent,  and 
its  representation  considered  for  itself  alone,  would 
have  no  aesthetic  value ;  for,  once  more  to  repeat  it, 
nothing  that  concerns  the  sensuous  nature  alone,  is 
worthy  of  representation.  Hence,  not  only  all  merely 
relaxing  (melting)  emotions,  but  generally  all  extreme 
degrees,  of  whatever  emotion,  are  beneath  the  dignity 
of  tragic  art. 

The  melting  emotions,  the  merely  tender  excite- 
ments, belong  to  the  province  of  the  agreeable,  with 


206 


PATHOS. 


which  the  fine  arts  have  nothing  to  do.  They  gratify 
the  sense  only  by  dissolution  or  relaxation,  and  relate 
only  to  the  external,  not  to  the  internal,  condition  of  a 
man.  Many  of  our  romances  and  tragedies,  espe- 
cially of  the  so-called  Dramas  (intermediates  between 
comedy  and  tragedy),  and  the  popular  domestic  pic- 
tures, belong  to  this  class.  They  only  produce  ex- 
haustion of  the  lachrymal  sack,  and  a  delightful  allevi- 
ation of  the  vessels  :  but  the  spirit  goes  away  empty, 
and  the  nobler  power  of  man  is  thereby  not  in  the  least 
strengthened.  Just  so,  says  Kant,  does  many  an  one 
feel  edified  by  a  sermon,  whereby  absolutely  nothing 
has  been  builded  up  within  him.1    And  the  modern 

1  (Tr.)  —  As  illustrating  what  may  be  called  dynamical  preaching, 
and  the  spurious  devotion,  which,  like  the  cannon-fever,  only  seizes 
raw  recruits  —  the  whole  of  Kant's  passage  is  worth  quoting.  With 
respect  to  spiritual  edification,  he  says  :  — "  When  a  fit  signification 
is  sought  for  this  term,  scarce  any  other  can  be  assigned  than  this  : 
Edification  is  the  ethical  effect  wrought  upon  our  inner  man  by  Devo- 
tion. This  effect  cannot  be  the  mental  movement  or  emotion,  (for 
this  is  already  involved  in  the  conception  of  devotion),  although  the 
majority  of  the  soi-disant  devout  (called  upon  this  very  account 
Devotees),  place  all  edification  just  in  this  sentimental  movement. 
Edification  must  therefore  be  understood  to  mean,  the  Ethical 
Purchase  that  devotion  takes  upon  the  actual  amendment  and  build- 
ing up  of  the  moral  characters  of  mankind.  A  structure  of  this  sort 
can  only  then  succeed  when  systematically  gone  about :  firm  princi- 
ples, fashioned  after  well  understood  conceptions,  are,  first  of  all,  to 
be  laid  deep  into  the  foundations  of  the  heart ;  from  these,  sentiments 
corresponding  to  the  weight  and  magnitude  of  oifr  several  duties 
must  rise,  and  be  watched  and  protected  against  the  snares  and 
wiles  of  appetite  and  passion,  thus  uprearing  and  building  up  a  new 
man  —  a  Temple  of  God.  Evidently  this  edifice  can  advance  but 
slowly,  but  slill  some  traces  of  superstructure  ought  to  be  perceptible. 


PATHOS. 


207 


music  especially  seems  to  address  only  the  sensuous- 
ness,  thereby  flattering  the  ruling  taste,  which  only  de- 
sires to  be  tickled  agreeably,  not  to  be  laid  hold  upon, 
not  to  be  powerfully  moved,  not  to  be  elevated.  Con- 
sequently that  which  is  melting  is  preferred,  and  no 
matter  how  much  confusion  there  may  be  in  a  concert 
room,  it  is  suddenly  all  ear,  while  a  melting  passage  is 
executed.  An  expression  of  sensuousness  bordering 
upon  animality  then  usually  appears  upon  every  coun- 
tenance, the  drunken  eyes  swim,  the  open  mouth  is  all 
desire,  a  voluptuous  trembling  seizes  the  whole  body, 
the  breath  is  fast  and  weak,  in  short,  all  the  symptoms 
of  intoxication  ensue  :  showing  evidently,  that  the 
senses  riot,  while  the  spirit,  or  the  principle  of  freedom 
in  man,  falls  a  prey  to  the  violence  of  the  sensuous  im- 
pression. All  such  emotions,  I  affirm,  are  excluded 
from  art  by  a  noble  and  manly  taste,  because  they 
please  nothing  but  the  sense,  with  which  art  can  have 
no  dealings. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  those  degrees  of  emotion  are 
likewise  excluded,  which  only  torture  the  sense,  with- 
out at  the  same  time  indemnifying  the  spirit.  They 
oppress  the  mental  freedom  by  pain,  no  less  than  the 
former  do  by  pleasure,  and  therefore  simply  cause 

Many  there  are,  however,  who  deem  themselves  much  edified 
(by  a  discourse,  psalmody  or  book)  where  absolutely  nothing  has 
been  builded  up,  ay  !  where  not  even  a  finger  has  been  stirred  to 
help  on  the  work  :  possibly  they  think  that  the  ethic  dome  will,  like 
the  walls  of  Thebes,  rise  to  the  harmonious  concert  of  sighs  and 
yearning  wishes."  —  Religion  within  the  bounds  of  Pure  Reason. 
SempWs  Translation. 


208  PATHOS. 

aversion,  and  no  emotion  worthy  of  art.  Art  must  de- 
iight  the  spirit  and  please  the  freedom.  He  who  falls  a 
victim  to  pain,  is  no  longer  a  suffering  man,  but  only  a 
tormented  animal ;  for  of  man  is  absolutely  demanded  a 
moral  opposition  to  suffering,  as  the  only  means  of 
manifesting  the  principle  of  freedom,  the  intelligence, 
within. 

Upon  such  grounds,  those  artists  and  poets  are  but 
wretchedly  versed  in  their  art,  who  think  to  secure 
Pathos  by  the  merely  sensuous  power  of  emotion,  and 
the  most  vivid  delineations  of  suffering.  They  forget, 
that  suffering  itself  is  never  the  Ji?ial  design  of  a  repre- 
sentation, and  can  never  be  the  direct  source  of  the 
satisfaction  we  feel  at  the  tragic.  The  Pathetic  is  Ges- 
thetic,  only  so  far  as  it  is  sublime.  But  effects,  which 
result  only  from  a  sensuous  source,  and  are  founded 
only  in  affection  of  the  sensibility,  are  never  sublime, 
however  much  power  they  may  betray  :  for  the  sublime 
springs  only  from  the  reason. 

A  representation  of  mere  passion  (whether  pleasure- 
able  or  painful),  without  a  representation  of  the  super- 
sensuous  resistive  power,  is  called  common,  the  oppo- 
site is  called  noble.  Common  and  noble  are  the  concep- 
tions which  always  denote,  where  they  are  used,  a  rela- 
tion to  the  sympathy  or  unsympathy  (Nichtantheil)  of 
man's  supersensuous  nature  with  an  action  or  a  work. 
Nothing  is  noble  which  does  not  flow  out  of  the  reason  : 
all  that  sensuousness  produces  for  itself,  is  common. 
We  say  of  a  man,  that  his  action  is  common,  if  he  fol- 
lows only  the  suggestions  of  his  sensuous  impulse :  his 


PATHOS. 


209 


action  is  respectable,  if  he  follows  his  impulse  with  re- 
gard only  to  laws  ;  his  action  is  noble,  if  he  follows  only 
the  reason,  without  regarding  his  impulses.  We  call  a 
likeness  common,  if  it  has  nothing  to  manifest  the  in- 
telligence in  man  :  we  call  it  speaking,  if  the  spirit  de- 
tines  the  features,  and  noble,  if  pure  spirit  defines  them. 
We  call  a  work  of  architecture  common,  if  it  displays 
to  us  nothing  but  a  physical  design  :  we  call  it  noble, 
if  at  the  same  time,  independent  of  every  physical  de- 
sign, it  is  a  representation  of  ideas. 

Then  a  good  taste,  I  maintain,  permits  no  represent- 
ation of  emotion,  however  forceful,  which  expresses 
mere  physical  suffering  and  physical  resistance,  without 
also  manifesting  the  higher  humanity,  the  presence  of 
a  supersensuous  faculty,  —  and  this  for  the  reason 
already  unfolded,  that  suffering  in  itself  is  never 
pathetic  and  worth  representing,  but  only  the  opposi- 
tion to  suffering.  Therefore  all  the  absolutely  highest 
degrees  of  emotion  are  forbidden  both  to  the  artist  and 
the  poet,  for  they  all  suppress  the  internally  resist- 
ing power,  or  rather  presuppose  such  a  suppression, 
since  no  emotion  can  attain  its  absolutely  highest  de- 
gree, so  long  as  man's  intelligence  affords  any  opposi- 
tion. 

Now  the  question  arises  :  how  does  this  supersensu- 
ous resistive  power  make  itself  manifest  in  an  emotion? 
In  no  other  way  than  by  governing,  or,  more  generally, 
by  resisting,  the  emotion.  I  say,  the  emotion  ;  for  sen- 
suousness  also  can  resist,  but  that  is  not  a  resistance 
to  the  emotion,  only  to  its  cause  —  not  a  moral,  but  a 
14 


210 


PATHOS. 


physical  resistance,  which  even  the  worm  displays, 
when  we  tread  upon  it,  and  the  buffalo,  when  we  wound 
it,  without  consequently  exciting  Pathos.  When  a 
suffering  man  gives  expression  to  his  feelings,  when  he 
seeks  to  avoid  his  enemy,  and  to  put  the  suffering 
limb  in  safety,  he  acts  in  common  with  every  animal, 
and  from  a  ready  instinct  which  does  not  first  consult 
the  will.  Then  that  which  does  not  make  him  cogni- 
zable as  an  intelligence,  is  no  act  of  his  humanity. 
It  is  true,  sensuousness  may  each  time  resist  its  enemy, 
but  not  once  itself. 

On  the  contrary,  the  contest  with  emotion  is  a  con- 
test with  sensuousness,  and  thus  presupposes  something 
distinct  from  the  latter.  A  man,  with  the  aid  of  his 
intellect  and  his  muscular  power,  can  defend  himself 
against  the  object  that  causes  him  to  suffer :  but, 
against  the  suffering  itself,  he  has  no  other  weapon  than 
the  ideas  of  the  reason. 

Then  where  Pathos  should  obtain,  these  ideas  must 
appear  in  the  representation,  or  be  excited  by  it.  But 
ideas,  positively  and  in  a  peculiar  sense,  are  not  to  be 
represented,  because  nothing  in  intuition  can  corre- 
spond to  them.  But,  negatively  and  indirectly,  they 
are  by  all  means  to  be  represented,  if  something  is 
given  in  the  intuition,  for  which  we  should  in  vain 
search  the  conditions  of  nature.  Every  appearance, 
whose  final  cause  cannot  be  deduced  from  the  sensuous 
world,  is  an  indirect  representation  of  the  supersen- 
suous. 

Now  how  does  art  succeed  in  representing  some- 


PATHOS. 


211 


thing  that  is  above  nature,  without  employing  supra- 
natural  means  ?  What  kind  of  an  appearance  must 
that  be,  which  is  accomplished  by  natural  powers,  (for 
otherwise  it  would  not  be  an  appearance),  and  yet  can- 
not without  contradiction  be  deduced  from  physical 
causes?  This  is  the  problem:  now  how  does  the 
artist  solve  it  ? 

We  must  remember,  that  the  phenomena  which  can 
be  observed  in  a  man  in  a  condition  of  emotion,  are  of 
two  species.    They  are  such,  firstly,  as  pertain  to  him 
merely  as  an  animal,  and  follow  as  such  only  the  law  of 
nature,  ungoverned  by  his  will,  or  generally  under  no 
direct  influence  exerted  by  his  self-dependent  power. 
They  are  the  immediate  product  of  instinct,  and 
blindly  obey  its  laws.    To  this  species  belong  for  ex- 
ample, the  organs  of  circulation,  of  respiration,  and  the 
whole  surface  of  the  skin  :  but  those  organs  too,  which 
are  subjected  to  the  will,  do  not  always  wait  for  its  de- 
cision, but  are  often  set  in  motion  immediately  by  the 
instinct,  there  particularly,  where  pain   or  danger 
threatens  the  physical  condition.    So  indeed  our  arm 
is  under  the  authority  of  the  will,  but  if  we  uncon- 
sciously grasp  something  hot,  the  withdrawing  the 
hand  is  certainly  not  an  action  of  the  will,  but  only  an 
operation  of  instinct.    Nay,  still  further  :  speech  is 
certainly  something  beneath  the  government  of  the  will, 
and  yet  the  instinct  can  even  dispose  of  this  organ  and 
work  of  the  intellect  at  pleasure,  without  first  consult- 
ing the  will,  as  soon  as  a  great  pain  or  a  strong  emotion 
surprises  us.  Let  the  most  collected  stoic  see  of  a  sud- 


212 


PATHOS. 


den  something  exceedingly  wonderful  or  an  unexpected 
horror,  let  him  be  near  when  somebody  slips  and  is  on 
the  point  of  falling  into  a  chasm,  a  loud  exclamation, 
and  that  too  not  a  merely  inarticulate  tone,  but  a  per- 
fectly distinct  word,  will  involuntarily  escape  him,  and 
his  nature  will  have  acted  earlier  than  his  will.  This 
then  serves  to  illustrate,  that  there  are  appearances  in 
man,  which  cannot  be  ascribed  to  his  Person,  as  intelli- 
gence, but  only  to  his  instinct  as  a  power  of  nature. 

But,  secondly,  there  are  also  appearances,  which  ex- 
ist under  the  influence  and  under  the  dominion  of  the 
will,  or  which  at  least  we  may  consider  such  as  the 
will  has  power  to  hinder  ;  for  which  then,  the  Person 
is  responsible,  and  not  the  instinct.  It  belongs  to  in- 
stinct, to  watch  with  blind  zeal  the  interest  of  sensu- 
ousness  ;  but  to  the  Person,  to  limit  instinct  by  respect 
for  laws.  Pure  instinct  has  no  regard  for  law ;  but 
the  Person  has  to  provide  that  no  detriment  befalls  the 
prescriptions  of  reason  through  any  act  of  instinct.  So 
much  then  is  certain,  that  not  all  the  appearances  of 
man  in  a  state  of  emotion  are  to  be  defined  uncondi- 
tionally by  the  instinct,  but  that  limits  can  be  put  to  it 
by  the  will  of  man.  If  instinct  alone  defines  all  the  ap- 
pearances in  man,  nothing  exists  that  can  remind  us  of 
the  Person,  and  what  we  have  before  us  is  only  nature, 
that  is,  an  animal  :  for  every  natural  being  under  the 
dominion  of  instinct  is  called  animal.  If,  then,  the 
Person  would  be  represented,  some  appearances  must 
obtain  in  man,  which  have  either  been  defined  in  oppo- 
sition to  instinct,  or  yet  not  by  instinct.    The  fact 


PATHOS. 


213 


that  instinct  has  not  denned  them,  suffices  to  lead  us 
to  a  higher  source,  as  soon  as  we  understand  that  in- 
stinct would  certainly  have  defined  them  differently,  if 
its  power  had  not  been  broken. 

We  are  now  in  a  condition  to  state  the  way  and 
manner,  in  which  the  supersensuous,  self-dependent 
power  of  man,  his  moral  self,  can  be  represented  during 
emotion :  namely,  as  follows.  All  the  parts  which 
obey  only  nature,  and  which  the  will,  either  always  or 
under  certain  circumstances,  cannot  dispose  of,  must 
betray  the  presence  of  suffering  ;  but  those  parts  which 
are  removed  from  the  blind  force  of  instinct,  and  do 
not  necessarily  obey  the  law  of  nature,  must  show  few 
or  no  traces  of  this  suffering,  must  appear,  then,  in  a 
certain  degree  free.  Now  we  recognize,  at  this  dis- 
harmony between  those  features  which  have  been 
stamped  upon  the  animal  nature  by  the  law  of  neces- 
sity, and  between  those,  which  the  self-active  spirit  de- 
termines, a  supersensuous  principle  in  man,  which  is 
able  to  limit  the  operations  of  nature,  and  thus  to  man- 
ifest itself  as  something  distinct  from  them.  The 
purely  animal  part  of  man  obeys  the  law  of  nature,  and 
can  appear  oppressed  by  the  violence  of  an  emotion. 
Through  this  part,  the  whole  strength  of  suffering  dis- 
plays itself,  and  serves,  as  it  were,  for  a  measure,  by 
which  we  may  estimate  the  resistance ;  for  the  strength 
of  the  resistance,  or  man's  moral  force,  can  only  be 
judged  according  to  the  strength  of  the  attack.  The 
more  decisive  and  violent  is  the  development  of  emo- 
tion in  the  province  of  animality,  without  its  being 


•214 


PATHOS. 


able  to  maintain  the  same  force  in  the  province  of 
humanity,  the  more  recognizable  does  the  latter  be- 
come, the  more  gloriously  is  man's  moral  independ- 
ence revealed,  the  more  pathetic  is  the  representation, 
and  the  more  sublime  is  the  Pathos.1 

This  aesthetic  principle  is  made  into  an  intuition  in 
the  statues  of  the  ancients  :  but  it  is  hard  to  bring 
under  conceptions,  and  to  express  in  words,  the  im- 
pression which  the  sensuous  act  of  sight  gives.  The 
group  of  Laocoon  and  his  children  is  probably  a 
measure  of  what  the  plastic  art  of  the  ancients  was 
able  to  effect  in  Pathos. 

"  Laocoon,"  says  Winckelmann,3  "  is  a  nature  in  the 
deepest  pain,  made  in  the  image  of  a  man,  who  seeks 
to  collect  against  it  a  conscious  strength  of  spirit :  and 
while  his  suffering  swells  the  muscles  and  strains  the 

1  I  comprehend  within  the  province  of  animality,  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  those  appearances  in  man,  which  are  subject  to  the  blind  vio- 
lence of  native  instinct,  and  are  fully  explicable  without  supposing 
a  freedom  of  the  will ;  within  the  province  of  humanity,  I  compre- 
hend those  which  receive  their  laws  from  the  freedom.  If  a  repre- 
sentation of  emotion  in  the  province  of  animality  is  deficient,  we  re- 
main cold  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  it  prevails  in  the  province  of  humanity, 
it  disturbs  and  disgusts  us.  An  emotion  must  always  remain  unre- 
duced in  the  former  province  :  its  reduction  may  first  occur  in  the 
province  of  humanity.  A  suffering  man,  represented  as  weeping  and 
lamenting,  will  but  feebly  move  us,  because  sighs  and  tears  already 
reduce  the  pain  in  the  province  of  animality.  A  mute  and  stifled 
pain  seizes  us  much  more  powerfully,  where  we  find  no  help  in 
nature,  but  are  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  something  which  lies  out  be- 
yond nature:  and  in  this  very  reference  to  the  supersensuous  lies 
Pathos  and  the  power  of  tragedy. 

2  In  his  History  of  Art,  p.  699.    Vienna:  quarto  edition. 


PATHOS. 


215 


nerves,  the  soul  armed  with  power  appears  in  the  chan- 
neled forehead,  and  the  breast  heaves  over  the  confined 
breath  and  the  stifled  expression  of  feeling,  as  it  strives 
to  comprehend  and  to  lock  the  pain  within.  The 
breath  laden  with  anxious  sighs,  which  he  swallows 
and  represses,  exhausts  the  abdomen,  and  makes  the 
sides  hollow,  by  which  we  may  judge  of  the  agitation 
of  the  viscera.  But  his  own  suffering  seems  to  afflict 
him  less  than  that  of  his  children,  who  turn  their 
faces  to  him  and  cry  for  help  :  for  the  paternal  heart 
shows  itself  in  the  saddened  eyes,  and  sympathy  seems 
to  float  over  them  in  a  dim  vapor.  His  countenance  is 
complaining,  but  not  exclaiming ;  his  eyes  are  directed 
after  higher  aid.  The  mouth  is  full  of  sadness,  and  the 
fallen  under  lip  is  heavy  with  it :  but  it  is  mingled  in  the 
arched  upper  lip  with  pain,  which,  with  an  expression 
of  chagrin,  as  if  at  unworthy  and  unmerited  suffering, 
ascends  to  the  nose,  causes  it  to  swell,  and  appears  in 
the  distended  and  up-drawn  nostrils.  The  conflict  be- 
tween pain  and  opposition,  united  under  the  forehead, 
as  into  a  focus,  is  shaped  with  great  truth  :  for  while 
the  pain  draws  up  the  eyebrows,  the  struggle  against 
it  presses  down  the  cuticle  above  the  eye  against  the 
upper  eye-lid,  so  that  it  is  almost  covered  by  the  im- 
pending flesh.  The  artist  has  sought  to  give  the  na- 
ture, which  he  could  not  improve,  more  development, 
more  tension,  more  power :  the  greatest  beauty  ap- 
pears where  the  greatest  pain  lies.  The  left  side, 
into  which  the  snake  sends  its  venom  with  furious  bite, 
is  the  one  which  appears  to  suffer  most  sharply,  from 


216 


PATHOS. 


the  closer  susceptibility  of  the  heart.  His  legs  lift 
themselves  in  order  to  escape  from  his  calamity  :  no 
part  is  in  rest,  the  chisel-strokes  themselves  assist  in 
indicating  a  stiffened  skin." 

How  truly  and  finely  is  the  conflict  of  intelligence 
with  the  suffering  of  sensuous  nature  developed  in  this 
description,  and  how  strikingly  given  are  the  appear- 
ances in  which  animality  and  humanity,  the  constraint 
of  nature  and  the  freedom  of  reason,  reveal  themselves. 
Virgil  has  depicted  the  same  scene  in  his  yEneid :  but 
it  did  not  lie  in  the  plan  of  the  epic  poet,  to  linger  over 
the  mental  condition  of  Laocoon,  as  the  sculptor  was 
obliged  to  do.  With  Virgil  the  whole  relation  is 
merely  accessory,  and  the  purpose,  whereto  it  should 
serve  him,  is  sufficiently  attained  by  the  simple  physical 
representation,  without  a  necessity  that  he  should  give 
us  deep  glances  into  the  soul  of  the  suffering  one  : 
since  he  will  not  so  much  move  us  to  compassion,  as 
penetrate  us  with  horror.  In  this  respect,  then,  the 
duty  of  the  poet  was  merely  negative,  namely,  not  to 
carry  the  representation  of  suffering  nature  so  far  as  to 
lose  thereby  all  expression  of  humanity  or  of  moral  re- 
sistance, because  otherwise  aversion  and  indignation 
must  infallibly  ensue.  Consequently  he  preferred  to 
restrict  himself  to  the  representation  of  the  cause  of 
suffering,  and  thought  proper  to  enlarge  more  minutely 
upon  the  dreadfulness  of  the  two  serpents,  and  upon 
the  fury  with  which  they  fall  upon  their  victim,  than 
upon  the  sensations  of  the  latter.  Upon  those  he 
dwelt  but  slightly,  because  it  was  important  that  he 


PATHOS. 


217 


should  preserve  unweakened  the  idea  of  a  divine  retri- 
bution and  the  impression  of  horror.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, he  had  permitted  us  to  know  as  much  of  Lao- 
coon's  Person,  as  the  sculptor  has,  the  suffering  man, 
and  no  longer  the  avenging  divinity,  would  have  been 
the  hero  in  the  action,  and  the  episode  would  have  lost 
its  consistency  with  the  whole. 

We  are  well  acquainted  with  Virgil's  relation 
through  Lessing's  excellent  commentary.  But  the 
purpose,  for  which  Lessing  used  it,  was  only  to  make 
perceptible  the  limits  of  poetic  and  picturesque  repre- 
sentation in  this  example,  not  to  evolve  therefrom  the 
conception  of  Pathos.  But  it  seems  to  me  to  be  no  less 
useful  for  the  latter  design,  and  I  may  be  permitted  to 
run  through  it  again  with  this  view. 

Ecce  autem  gemini  Tenedo  tranquilla  per  alta 
(Horresco  referens)  immensis  orbibus  angues 
Incumbunt  pelago,  pariterque  ad  littora  tendunt. 
Pcctora  quorum  inter  fluctus  arrecta,  jubaeque 
Sanguineae  exsuperant  undas,  pars  csetera  pontum 
Pone  legit,  sinuatque  immensa  volumine  terga. 
Fit  sonitus  spumante  salo,  jamque  arva  tenebant, 
Ardentis  oculos  suffecti  sanguine  etigni, 
Sibila  lambebant  linguis  vibrantibus  ora. 

Here  power,  the  first  of  the  three  above  cited  condi- 
tions of  the  sublime,  is  given :  that  is  to  say,  a  mighty 
power  of  nature,  which  is  bent  upon  destruction  and 
derides  all  resistance.  But  that  this  power  may  be  at 
the  same  time  fearful,  and  that  fear  sublime,  depends 
upon  two  different  mental  operations,  that  is,  upon  two 


218 


PATHOS. 


representations  which  we  create  spontaneously  within. 
First,  when  we  compare  this  irresistible  power  of  na- 
ture with  the  weak  resistive  ability  of  the  physical  man, 
we  recognize  it  to  be  fearful ;  and  secondly,  when  we 
refer  it  to  our  will,  and  call  into  consciousness  the  ab- 
solute independence  of  the  latter  of  every  natural  in- 
fluence, it  becomes  for  us  a  sublime  object.  But  we 
assume  these  two  relations,  for  the  poet  gave  us  nothing 
but  an  object  armed  with  mighty  force  and  striving  to 
display  it.  If  we  tremble  before  it,  it  happens  only  be- 
cause we  imagine  ourselves,  or  a  creature  like  us,  in  a 
struggle  with  it.  If,  during  our  tremor,  we  feel  ele- 
vated, it  is  because  we  are  conscious  that  we,  even  as 
the  victim  of  this  power,  should  have  nothing  to  fear 
for  our  free  self,  for  the  autonomy  of  our  determining 
volition.  In  short,  the  representation  so  far  is  only 
contemplatively  sublime 

Diffugimus  visu  exsangues,  illi  agmine  certo 
Laocoonta  petunt. 

The  mightiness  is  now  given  as  fearful  also,  and  the 
contemplative  sublime  passes  over  into  Pathos.  We 
see  it  actually  enter  the  lists  with  the  weakness  of  man. 
Laocoon  or  ourselves,  the  effect  differs  only  in  degree. 
The  sympathetic  impulse  terrifies  the  impulse  for  self- 
preservation,  the  monsters  break  loose  upon  —  us,  and 
all  flight  is  vain. 

It  now  depends  no  longer  upon  us,  whether  we  will 
measure  this  power  with  our  own,  relatively  to  our 
own  existence.    This  takes  place  in  the  object  itself 


PATHOS. 


219 


without  our  cooperation.  Then  our  fear  has  not,  as 
in  the  preceding  moment,  a  subjective  ground  merely 
in  our  minds,  but  an  objective  ground  in  the  object. 
For  though  we  recognize  the  whole  to  be  a  pure  fic- 
tion of  the  imagination,  yet  we  distinguish,  even  in 
this  fiction,  a  representation  which  is  imparted  from 
without,  from  another,  which  we  produce  spontane- 
ously within  ourselves. 

Then  the  mind  loses  a  part  of  its  freedom,  because 
it  receives  from  without  what  it  previously  created 
through  its  spontaneity.  The  representation  of  peril 
acquires  an  appearance  of  objective  reality,  and  the 
emotion  becomes  serious. 

If  now,  we  were  nothing  but  sensuous  beings,  and 
obeyed  only  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  we  should 
stand  still  here  and  remain  in  a  condition  of  mere  pas- 
sivity. But  there  is  something  in  us  which  takes  no 
part  in  the  affections  of  the  sensuous  nature,  and  whose 
activity  conforms  to  no  sensuous  conditions.  Now, 
greater  or  less  room  will  be  left  for  suffering  nature, 
and  a  greater  or  less  remainder  of  self-activity  in  the 
emotion,  according  as  this  spontaneous  principle  (the 
moral  disposition),  has  developed  itself  in  a  mind. 

In  minds  morally  developed,  the  terrible  (in  imagi- 
nation), has  a  swift  and  easy  transition  to  the  sublime. 
As  the  imagination  loses  its  freedom,  the  reason  makes 
valid  its  own :  and  the  mind  takes  an  inward  extension 
only  so  much  the  more,  as  it  finds  limits  without.  Re- 
pulsed from  all  the  intrenchments,  which  could  afford 
a  physical  protection  to  the  sensuous  being,  we  throw  ' 


220 


PATHOS. 


ourselves  into  the  impregnable  fortress  of  our  moral 
freedom,  and  thus  gain  an  absolute  and  infinite  safety, 
while  we  abandon  a  merely  comparative  and  preca- 
rious defence  in  the  field  of  phenomena.  But  for  the 
very  reason,  that  it  must  come  to  this  physical  stress, 
before  we  can  seek  aid  from  our  moral  nature,  we  can 
purchase  this  lofty  feeling  of  freedom  only  through  suf- 
fering. The  common  soul  continues  fast  in  this  suffer- 
ing, and  never  feels,  in  the  sublime  of  Pathos,  anything 
more  than  the  terrible  :  on  the  contrary,  a  self-depend- 
ent mind  passes,  from  this  very  suffering,  to  the  feeling 
of  his  lordliest  energy,  and  knows  how  to  create  sub- 
limity from  everything  terrible. 

Laocoonta  petunt,  ac  primum  parva  duorum 
Corpora  gnatorum  serpens  amplexus  uterque 
Implicat,  ac  miseros  morsu  depascitur  artus. 

It  produces  a  great  effect,  that  the  moral  man  (the 
father),  is  attacked  before  the  physical  man.  All  emo- 
tions are  more  aesthetic  at  second  hand,  and  no  sym- 
pathy is  stronger  than  that  which  we  feel  with  sympathy. 

Post  ipsum  auxilio  subeuntem  ac  tela  ferentem 
Cornpiunt. 

Now  is  the  moment  to  establish  the  hero  in  our 
esteem  as  a  moral  person,  and  the  poet  seizes  this  mo- 
ment. We  know  from  his  description,  the  whole 
force  and  fury  of  the  hostile  monsters,  and  know  how 
fruitless  all  opposition  is.  Now  were  Laocoon  only  a 
common  man,  he  would  consult  his  own  interest,  and. 


PATHOS. 


221 


like  the  other  Trojans,  seek  his  safety  in  a  hasty  flight. 
But  he  has  a  heart  in  his  bosom,  and  the  peril  of  his 
children  constrains  him  to  his  own  destruction.  This 
single  trait  alone  makes  him  worthy  of  all  our  com- 
passion :  and  we  should  have  been  moved  and  shocked, 
at  whatever  moment  the  serpents  might  have  seized 
him.  But  when  it  happens  at  the  moment,  when  he  is 
worthy  of  our  veneration  as  a  father,  when  his  death  is 
represented  as  the  immediate  result,  as  it  were,  of  his 
fulfilment  of  a  paternal  duty  —  this  enflames  our  sym- 
pathy to  the  highest.  He  is  now  as  one,  who  surren- 
ders himself  to  destruction  from  free  choice,  and  his 
death  is  an  actionvof  the  will. 

In  all  Pathos,  then,  the  sense  must  become  in- 
terested through  suffering,  the  spirit  through  freedom. 
If  a  pathetic  representation  is  wanting  in  an  expression 
of  suffering  nature,  it  is  without  (Esthetic  power,  and 
our  heart  remains  cold.  If  it  fails  in  an  expression  of 
ethical  disposition,  it  can  never,  with  all  its  sensuous 
power,  be  pathetic,  and  will  infallibly  disturb  our  per- 
ception. The  suffering  man  must  be  apparent  through 
all  the  freedom  of  spirit,  and  the  spirit,  capable  of 
self-dependence,  must  appear  through  all  the  suffering 
of  humanity. 

But  the  independence  of  spirit  can  be  manifested  in 
a  condition  of  suffering,  in  a  twofold  manner.  Either 
negatively  —  if  the  ethical  man  does  not  receive  law 
from  the  physical,  and  the  condition  is  not  allowed  to 


222 


PATHOS. 


have  a  causality  for  the  inclination :  or  positively  —  if 
the  ethical  man  gives  law  to  the  physical,  and  the  in- 
tention preserves  causality  for  the  condition.  From 
the  first,  results  the  sublime  of  resolution  :  from  the 
second,  the  sublime  of  action. 

Every  character  that  is  independent  of  destiny  is  a 
sublimity  of  resolution.  "  A  brave  spirit,  in  conflict 
with  adversity,"  says  Seneca,  "  is  an  attractive  specta- 
cle, even  for  the  gods."  The  Roman  Senate  after  the 
reverse  at  Cannae  gives  us  such  a  sight.  Even  Milton's 
Lucifer,  when  for  the  first  time  he  casts  his  eyes  around 
Hell,  his  future  abode,  penetrates  us,  on  account  of 
this  strength  of  soul,  with  a  feeling  of  admiration.  He 
exclaims : 

"  Hail  horrors  :  hail 
Infernal  world  ;  and  thou  profoundest  hell 
Receive  thy  new  possessor  ;  one  who  brings 
A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  place  or  time. 
The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven. 

Here  at  least 

We  shall  be  free." 

The  answer  of  Medea  in  the  tragedy  belongs  to  the 
same  class. 

Of  sublimity  of  resolution  we  may  have  intuition,  for 
it  depends  upon  coexistence ;  on  the  contrary,  sub- 
limity of  action  may  be  only  imagined,  for  it  depends 
upon  succession,  and  the  intellect  is  compelled,  on  ac- 
count of  the  suffering,  to  make  a  deduction  from  a  free 
resolution.  Consequently  only  the  first  is  for  the 
sculptor,  because  he  only  can  successfully  represent 


PATHOS. 


coexisting  ideas  ;  but  the  poet  can  diffuse  himself  over 
both.  Even  if  the  sculptor  has  to  represent  a  sublime 
action,  he  has  to  convert  it  first  into  a  sublime  resolu- 
tion. 

It  is  demanded  for  sublimity  of  action,  that  the  suf- 
fering of  a  man  should  not  only  have  no  influence  upon 
his  moral  quality,  but,  quite  the  reverse,  should  be  the 
work  of  his  moral  character.  This  can  be  in  two 
ways.  Either  mediately,  and  according  to  the  law  of 
freedom,  if  he  chooses  suffering  out  of  regard  for  some 
duty.  In  this  case  the  conception  of  duty  determines 
him  as  motive,  and  his  suffering  is  an  action  of  the  will. 
Or  immediately,  and  according  to  the  law  of  necessity, 
if  he  atones  morally  for  a  duty  transgressed.  In  this 
case  the  conception  of  duty  determines  him  as  force, 
and  his  suffering  is  only  an  effect.  We  have  an  exam- 
ple of  the  first  in  Regulus,  when,  in  order  to  keep  his 
word,  he  surrenders  himself  to  the  revengefulness  of 
the  Carthagenians :  he  would  have  served  for  an  exam- 
ple of  the  second,  had  he  broken  his  word,  and  had  the 
consciousness  of  this  fault  made  him  miserable.  In 
both  cases  the  life  has  a  moral  ground,  only  with  this 
difference,  that  he  shows  us,  in  the  first  case,  his  moral 
character,  in  the  other,  only  his  moral  determinateness. 
In  the  first  case  he  appears  as  a  person  morally  great, 
in  the  second,  only  as  an  object  aesthetically  great. 

This  latter  distinction  is  important  for  tragic  art, 
and  therefore  deserves  a  stricter  examination. 

That  man  is  a  sublime  object,  only  in  an  aesthetic 
estimation,  who  represents  to  us  in  his  condition  the 


224 


PATHOS. 


dignity  of  human  determinateness,  supposing  that  we 
do  not  see  this  determinateness  realized  in  his  Person. 
He  becomes  sublime,  in  a  moral  estimation,  only  when 
he  also  conducts,  as  a  Person,  conformably  to  that  de- 
terminateness,—  when  our  regard  concerns  not  only 
his  ability,  but  the  use  of  this  ability,  when  not  only 
his  disposition,  but  his  actual  demeanor  acquires  dig- 
nity. It  is  something  quite  distinct,  whether,  in  our 
criticism,  we  regard  the  moral  ability,  and  this  possi- 
bility of  an  absolute  freedom  of  the  will,  or  the  use  of 
this  ability,  and  the  reality  of  this  freedom  of  the  will. 

It  is  quite  a  different  thing,  I  say,  and  this  difference 
lies  not  only  in  the  objects  criticised,  but  in  the  differ- 
ent critical  methods.  The  same  object  may  displease 
us,  when  regarded  morally,  and  be  very  attractive,  aes- 
thetically. But  if  it  gives  us  satisfaction  in  both  the 
critical  courts,  it  is  effected  with  both  in  a  manner 
entirely  different.  By  being  aesthetically  useful,  it  be- 
comes morally  unsatisfying,  and  when  morally  satisfy- 
ing, not  aesthetically  useful. 

For  example,  I  imagine  the  self-sacrifice  of  Leonidas 
at  Thermopylae.  Morally  considered,  this  action  is  a 
representation  of  the  moral  law  fulfilled  against  every 
opposition  of  instinct  :  aesthetically  considered,  it  is  a 
representation  of  the  moral  ability  independent  of  every 
constraint  of  instinct.  This  action  satisfies  my  moral 
sense  (the  reason)  :  it  transports  my  aesthetic  sense 
(the  imagination). 

I  offer  the  following  reason  for  this  difference  in  my 
perceptions  of  the  same  object. 


PATHOS.  225 

As  our  being  separates  into  two  principles  or  na- 
tures, so  also  our  feelings,  in  conformity  with  these, 
separate  into  two  species  entirely  distinct.  As  a  ra- 
tional being  we  feel  approbation  or  disapprobation  :  as 
a  sensuous  being,  we  feel  pleasure  or  displeasure 
Both  feelings,  approbation  and  pleasure,  are  founded 
upon  a  satisfaction  given  :  the  former  upon  satisfaction 
of  a  claim,  for  the  reason  demands  only,  but  does  not 
need :  the  latter  upon  satisfaction  of  a  solicitation,  for 
the  sense  needs  only,  and  cannot  demand.  The  de- 
mands of  reason  and  the  needs  of  sense  are  both  related 
to  each  other,  as  necessity  to  exigency :  both,  then, 
are  comprehended  under  the  conception  of  necessity, 
only  with  this  difference,  that  the  necessity  of  reason 
takes  place  unconditionally,  but  the  necessity  of  sense 
only  under  conditions.  But  with  both  the  satisfaction 
is  contingent.  Every  feeling,  of  pleasure  as  well  as  of 
approbation,  has  its  final  cause,  then,  in  coincidence  of 
the  contingent  with  the  necessary.  If  the  necessity  is 
an  Imperative,  the  feeling  will  be  approbation,  if  it  is 
an  exigency,  the  feeling  will  be  pleasure  :  and  both  of 
them  stronger  in  degree,  according  as  the  satisfaction 
is  more  contingent. 

Now  a  demand  of  the  reason  underlies  every  moral 
decision,  namely,  that  a  thing  be  done  morally,  and  an 
unconditioned  necessity  exists,  that  we  will  what  is 
right.  But  since  the  will  is  free,  it  is  (physically) 
contingent  whether  we  really  do  it.  If  we  actually  do 
it,  then  this  coincidence  of  chance  in  the  use  of  free- 
dom with  the  Imperative  of  the  reason,  acquires  favor 
15 


226  PATHOS. 

or  approbation,  and  in  a  higher  degree,  according  as 
the  opposition  of  inclinations  makes  this  use  of  freedom 
more  contingent  and  doubtful. 

On  the  contrary,  the  object,  aesthetically  considered, 
is  related  to  the  exigency  of  the  imagination,  which 
cannot  dictate,  but  can  only  desire,  that  the  contingent 
should  coincide  with  its  interests.  But  it  is  the  in- 
terest of  imagination,  to  maintain  itself  in  play,  free 
from  laws.  To  this  disposition  for  license,  the  moral 
obligation  of  the  will,  which  strictly  defines  for  it  its 
object,  is  nothing  less  than  favorable  :  and  as  the 
moral  obligation  of  the  will  is  the  object  of  moral 
judgment,  we  easily  see,  that  the  imagination  could  not 
find  its  account  in  judging  after  this  fashion.  But  a 
moral  obligation  of  the  will  can  be  imagined  only  under 
the  supposition  of  its  absolute  independence  of  the 
constraint  of  natural  impulses  :  then  the  possibility  of 
the  moral  postulates  freedom,  and  consequently  coin- 
cides herein  most  completely  with  the  interest  of  the 
fancy.  But  since  the  fancy  with  its  exigency  cannot 
so  prescribe  to  the  will  of  an  individual,  as  the  reason 
can  with  its  Imperative,  the  ability  of  freedom,  in  its 
relation  to  the  fancy,  is  something  contingent,  and 
hence  must  excite  pleasure,  as  a  coincidence  of  chance 
with  that  which  is  (conditionally)  necessary.  If,  then, 
we  criticise  that  deed  of  Leonidas  morally,  we  regard 
it  from  a  point  of  view  whence  we  apprehend  its  con- 
tingency less  than  its  necessity.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
we  criticise  it  aesthetically ,  we  regard  it  from  a  stand- 
point, where  its  necessity  is  displayed  less  than  its  con- 


PATHOS. 


227 


tingency.  It  is  duty,  for  every  will  to  act  thus,  as 
soon  as  it  is  a  moral  will :  but  that  there  generally  is  a 
freedom  of  will,  which  makes  it  possible  to  act  thus,  is 
a.  favor  of  nature  with  regard  to  that  faculty  for  which 
freedom  is  an  exigency.  Then  if  the  moral  sense  — 
the  reason  —  criticises  a  virtuous  action,  the  highest  re- 
sult is  approbation,  because  the  reason  can  never  find 
more  than,  and  seldom  only  as  much  as,  it  demands. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  the  aesthetic  sense  —  the  imagina- 
tion —  criticises  the  same  action,  a  positive  pleasure 
results,  because  the  imagination  can  never  demand  an 
unanimity  with  its  exigency,  and  must  therefore  find 
itself  surprised  at  the  actual  satisfying  of  it,  as  at  a 
lucky  chance.  We  approve  Leonidas,  because  he 
actually  resolved  the  heroic  act :  we  exult  and  are  de- 
lighted that  he  could  resolve  it. 

The  difference  between  both  kinds  of  criticism  be- 
comes more  visible,  if  we  select  an  action,  upon  which 
the  moral  and  the  aesthetic  decisions  diner.  Take  the 
self-cremation  of  Peregrine  Proteus  at  Olympia.1 
Judging  morally,  I  cannot  approve  of  this  action  so  far 

1  (Ta.) — Peregrine  Proteus  was  a  juggler  who  voluntarily  burnt 
himself  at  one  of  the  Olympic  games.  He  lived  in  the  first  half  of 
the  second  century.  Being  compelled  to  flee  into  Palestine,  on  ac- 
count of  some  monstrous  excesses,  he  there  became  a  Christian,  and 
was  distinguished  for  his  zeal,  which  gained  him  a  dungeon  and  the 
prestige  of  persecution.  After  he  was  set  at  liberty,  he  recommenced 
his  wanderings,  but  fell  unfortunately  into  the  full  tide  of  his  old 
excesses,  and  was  finally  as  thoroughly  detested  as  he  had  been 
blindly  adored.  Wishing,  however,  to  do  one  more  thing  for  the 
sake  of  glory,  and  to  quit  time  and  space  with  eclat,  he  gave  out 
that  he  would  burn  himself  at  Olympia:  which  he  did,  A.  D.  168. 


228 


PATHOS. 


as  I  find  impure  motives  active  in  it,  on  whose  account 
the  duty  of  self-preservation  is  postponed.  Judging, 
aesthetically,  this  action  pleases  me,  and  for  this  reason, 
that  it  testifies  to  an  ability  of  the  will,  to  resist  even 
the  mightiest  of  all  instincts,  the  impulse  of  self-preser- 
vation. Whether  it  was  a  pure  moral  intention  or  only 
a  more  powerful  sensuous  attraction,  which  suppressed 
the  impulse  of  self-preservation  in  the  enthusiast  Pro- 
teus, I  care  not,  in  estimating  it  aesthetically  ;  in 
which  case  I  forsake  the  individual,  abstract  the  rela- 
tion of  his  will  to  the  law  of  will,  and  imagine  the  hu- 
man will  generally,  as  a  generic  faculty,  in  relation  to 
the  whole  force  of  nature.  Morally  considered,  we 
have  seen  that  self-preservation  was  conceived  as  a 
duty,  whose  violation  consequently  offended ;  on  the 
contrary,  aesthetically  considered,  it  was  regarded  as 
an  interest,  whose  postponement  consequently  pleased. 
Then  the  operation  which  we  perform  in  the  former 

Wieland  has  elevated  Peregrine  into  the  hero  of  one  of  his  romances, 
and  has  made  a  noble  enthusiast  out  of  the  juggler ;  his  youthful 
fancy  is  filled  with  marvellous  conceptions  and  phantasms  —  he 
strives  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  himself  and  the  world,  which 
shall  elevate  him  to  perfection  and  the  bliss  of  spirits.  He  seeks 
this,  in  order  that  he  may  live  the  life  of  a  spirit,  converse  with  divin- 
ities and  demonic  influences,  and  rise  from  one  degree  of  beauty  to 
another,  till  he  has  intuition  and  enjoyment  of  the  archetypal  Beauty, 
the  heavenly  Venus,  who  is  continent  of  all  Beauty  and  perfection. 
"  One  easily  sees,"  says  Gervinus  "  how  this,  a  copy  of  a  Lavater,  a 
christian  mystic,  and  his  yearning  after  a  divine  union,  is  the  system 
of  devout  Epicureanism."  Wieland's  Agalhodemon  is  very  like  this 
romance  of  Peregrine  Proteus,  being  a  psychological  apology  for 
Apollonius  of  Tyana.  "It  is  a  substitute  for  the  inelegant  biogra- 
phy of  Apollonius  by  Philostrates,  as  Proteus  is  for  Lucian's  jesting 
Dialogue." 


PATHOS. 


229 


kind  of  criticism,  is  precisely  reversed  in  the  latter. 
Here  we  place  the  sensuously  limited  individual  and 
the  pathologically  affective  will,  over  against  the  abso- 
lute law  of  will  and  the  infinite  duty  of  spirit ;  there, 
on  the  contrary,  we  place  the  absolute  ability  of  will 
and  the  infinite  force  of  spirit,  over  against  the  con- 
straint of  nature  and  the  limits  of  sensuousness. 
Hence  the  aesthetic  judgment  leaves  us  free,  and  ele- 
vates and  inspires  us,  since  we  already  gain  a  manifest 
vantage  against  sensuousness,  through  the  mere  abili- 
ty to  will  absolutely,  through  the  mere  disposition  for 
morality — since  the  mere  possibility  of  extricating 
ourselves  from  the  constraint  of  nature,  flatters  our 
need  of  freedom.  Hence  the  moral  judgment  confines 
and  humiliates  us,  since  we  find  ourselves  more  or  less 
at  a  disadvantage  with  every  special  act  of  the  will 
against  the  absolute  law  of  will,  and  the  fancy's  im- 
pulse of  freedom,  is  contradicted  by  the  limitation  of 
the  will  to  a  single  mode  of  determinateness,  which 
duty  positively  demands.  Here  we  soar  from  the  ac- 
tual to  the  possible,  and  from  the  individual  to  the 
race  ;  there,  on  the  contrary,  we  descend  from  the  pos- 
sible to  the  actual,  and  confine  the  race  within  the 
limits  of  the  individual  :  no  wonder,  then,  that  an 
aesthetic  judgment  gives  us  a  feeling  of  expansion,  and 
that,  on  the  contrary,  a  moral  judgment  leaves  us 
cramped  and  bound.1 

1  This  solution,  I  remark  in  passing,  also  explains  to  us  the  di- 
versity of  aesthetic  impression,  which  the  Kantian  representation  of 
Duty  is  accustomed  to  make  upon  its  different  critics.    Not  a  con- 


230 


PATHOS. 


It  follows  from  all  this,  that  the  moral  and  the  aes- 
thetic criticism,  far  from  supporting,  rather  impede, 
each  other,  since  they  give  the  mind  two  entirely  con- 
tradictory directions  :  for  the  conformity,  which  the 
reason  demands  as  moral  arbitress,  does  not  consist 
with  the  license  which  the  imagination  desires  as  aes- 
thetic arbitress.  Hence  an  object  will  the  less  serve 
for  aesthetic  use,  according  as  it  is  qualified  for  moral 
use ;  and  if  the  poet  must  nevertheless  select  it,  he 
will  do  well,  so  to  handle  it,  as  not  so  much  to  refer 
our  reason  to  the  rule  of  the  will,  as  rather  to  refer  our 
fancy  to  the  ability  of  the  will.    The  poet  must  take 

temptible  portion  of  the  public  finds  this  representation  of  Duty  very 
humiliating:  another  portion  finds  it  infinitely  exalting  for  the 
heart.  Both  are  right,  and  the  reason  of  the  contradiction  exists 
only  in  the  different  stand-point,  from  which  the  two  parties  regard 
this  object.  The  mere  performance  of  one's  obligations,  certainly 
contains  nothing  great,  and  in  so  far  as  the  best  we  are  able  to  per- 
form is  nothing  but  the  fulfilment,  and  a  meagre  fulfilment  too,  of 
our  Duty,  the  highest  virtue  contains  nothing  inspiring.  But,  to 
perform  one's  obligations  truly  and  steadfastly  through  all  the  limi- 
tations of  sensuous  nature,  and  to  obey  undeviatingly  the  holy  spirit- 
law  in  the  fetters  of  matter,  this,  certainly,  is  exalting  and  worthy  of 
admiration.  Our  virtue,  reckoned  against  the  spirit-world,  has  truly 
nothing  meritorious,  and  however  much  it  may  cost  us,  we  shall 
ever  be  unprofitable  servants :  on  the  other  hand,  reckoned  against 
the  world  of  sense,  it  is  an  object  all  the  more  elevating.  So  far  as 
we  judge  all  actions  morally,  and  refer  them  to  the  ethic  law,  we 
shall  have  little  reason  to  be  proud  of  our  morality  :  but  so  far  as  we 
regard  these  actions  potentially,  and  refer  our  mental  ability,  which 
underlies  them,  to  the  empirical  world  —  that  is,  so  far  as  we  judge 
aesthetically,  a  certain  self- estimation  is  allowable,  nay,  it  is  even  ne- 
cessary; because  we  discover  a  principle  within  us,  that  is  great  ar.d 
infinite  beyond  all  comparison. 


PATHOS. 


231 


this  course  for  his  own  sake,  for  where  our  freedom 
begins  his  domination  ends.  We  are  his  only  so  long 
as  we  make  external  intuitions  :  he  has  lost  us,  as  soon 
as  we  commence  an  introversion.  But  the  latter  ine- 
vitably ensues,  as  soon  as  an  object  no  longer  consider- 
ed as  a  phenomenon  by  us,  begins  to  rule  us  as  a  law. 

Even  of  the  utterances  of  the  sublimest  virtue,  the 
poet  can  use  nothing  for  his  purposes,  save  what  be- 
longs to  those  of  power.  He  does  not  trouble  himself 
concerning  the  direction  of  power.  The  poet,  even  if 
he  places  before  our  eyes  the  most  perfect  moral  pat- 
tern, has  no  other  aim,  and  need  have  no  other,  than 
to  delight  us  by  its  contemplation.  But  nothing  that 
fails  to  improve  our  Subject,  can  delight  us,  and  no- 
thing that  does  not  elevate  our  spiritual  ability,  can 
spiritually  delight  us.  But  how  can  the  dutifulness 
of  another  improve  our  Subject  and  increase  our  spirit- 
ual power  1  That  he  actually  fulfils  his  duty,  depends 
upon  a  contingent  use  which  he  makes  of  his  free- 
dom, and  which,  therefore,  can  demonstrate  nothing 
for  us.  What  we  share  with  him  is  only  the  ability 
for  a  like  dutifulness;  and  when  in  perceiving  his 
ability,  we  perceive  also  our  own,  we  feel  an  elevation 
of  our  spiritual  power.  Then  it  is  only  through  the 
represented  possibility  of  an  absolutely  free  will,  that 
its  actual  exercise  pleases  our  aesthetic  sense. 

One  will  become  more  convinced  of  this,  by  reflect- 
ing how  little  the  poetic  power  of  the  impression  which 
moral  characters  or  actions  make  upon  us,  depends 
upon  their  historic  reality.    The  pleasure  we  take  in 


232 


PATHOS. 


ideal  characters  loses  nothing  by  the  recollection  that 
they  are  poetic  fictions  :  for  all  aesthetic  effect  is  based 
upon  poetic,  not  upon  historic  truth.  But  poetic  truth 
does  not  consist  in  the  fact  that  something  has  really 
happened,  but  that  it  could  happen,  —  in  the  internal 
potentiality,  then,  of  things.  The  aesthetic  power 
must  then  already  lie  in  the  represented  possibility. 

Even  in  the  actual  adventures  of  historical  person- 
ages, the  Poetic  does  not  consist  in  the  fact  of  exist- 
ence, but  in  the  faculty  announced  through  the  exist- 
ence. The  circumstance,  that  these  persons  really 
lived,  and  that  these  events  really  occurred,  can,  very 
often,  it  is  true,  increase  our  satisfaction,  but  with  a 
foreign  alloy  that  is  far  more  detrimental  than  advan- 
tageous to  the  poetic  impression.  The  idea  has  been 
long  entertained,  of  rendering  a  service  to  the  poetry 
of  our  Father-land,  by  recommending  to  poets  national 
objects  for  elaboration.  The  Grecian  poetry,  it  is  said, 
had  such  a  mastery  over  the  heart,  because  it  depicted 
native  scenes  and  immortalized  native  deeds.  It  is 
not  to  be  denied  that,  by  virtue  of  this  circumstance, 
the  poetry  of  the  ancients  produced  effects  of  which 
the  modern  poetry  cannot  boast ;  but  did  these  effects 
belong  to  the  art  and  to  the  poet  ?  Alas  for  Grecian 
art,  if  it  had  nothing  but  this  fortuitous  advantage  over 
modern  genius  —  alas  for  Grecian  taste,  if  it  was 
forced  to  depend  for  its  triumph  upon  these  historic 
associations  in  the  works  of  its  poets  !  Only  a  barba- 
rous taste  needs  the  spur  of  private  interest  to  win  it 
to  beauty,  and  only  the  bungler  borrows  from  the  ma- 


PATHOS. 


terial  a  power  which  he  despairs  of  imparting  to  the 
form.  Poetry  should  not  take  her  way  through  the 
cold  region  of  memory,  and  should  never  make  learn- 
ing her  interpreter,  or  self-interest  her  advocate.  She 
must  find  the  heart,  since  from  that  she  flows ;  she 
must  not  single  out  the  citizen  in  the  man,  but  the 
man  in  the  citizen. 

It  is  fortunate  that  true  genius  does  not  care  much 
for  the  hints  which  are  peevishly  thrown  out  for  its 
benefit,  with  a  capacity  not  so  good  as  the  intention  : 
else  Sulzer 1  and  his  followers  would  have  given  a  very 

i  (Tr.)  — J.  G.  Sulzer:  1719-79.  He  was  the  last  critical  de- 
fender of  what  Gervinus  calls  musical  poetry.  His  book  (a  sort  of 
aesthetic  dictionary),  is  full  of  radotcrie  about  the  inspiration  of  the 
poet  and  his  methodical  madness,  something  which  Sulzer  never  ex- 
perienced. He  is  desirous  of  teaching  artists  how  they  are  to  con- 
duct during  this  inspiration,  and  has  many  things  to  whisper  into  the 
ear  of  philosophers.  "  Batleux  and  Baumgarten  are  his  aesthetic 
authorities;  Lessing  is  hardly  mentioned  in  his  bulky  volume ;  Bod- 
mer  and  Klopstock  are  his  poetic  ideals,  and  he  rates  the  Noachid,  in 
commendation  of  which  he  wrote  a  special  book,  higher  than  the 
Messias  ;  he  admires  Rousseau  and  Dante  on  the  ground  of  a  musical 
or  seraphic  relationship,  though  he  does  not  profess  to  understand  the 
latter,  —  &c."  "  He  comprehends  the  Ethical  and  the  ^Esthetic  un- 
der the  moral  feeling,  which  is  the  source  of  poetry.  It  is  the  final 
design  of  Art  to  awaken  moral  feelings :  he  strives  in  particular  to 
excite  a  more  refined  feeling  in  the  most  respectable  part  of  the  na- 
tion, since  he  hopes  by  this  means  to  advance  the  arts,  and  by  the  arts 
to  fashion  the  whole  public  life.  He  seeks  to  make  a  permanent 
union  of  poetry  with  religion  and  politics,  to  give  festivals  and  every- 
thing national  as  a  point  d'appui  for  the  arts  —  that  the  people  may 
be  inflamed  with  zeal  for  the  rights  of  humanity ;  and  he  considers 
those  men  specially  commissioned  to  be  poets,  whose  ruling  passion 
is  love  for  the  common  weal.  This  disposition  made  Herder  favor- 
ably disposed  towards  him ;  but  all  who  longed  for  the  development 


234 


PATHOS. 


ambiguous  shape  to  German  poetry.  To  impart  to 
men  a  moral  culture,  and  to  kindle  national  feelings 
in  the  citizen,  is  truly  an  honorable  mission  for  the 
poet,  and  the  Muses  know  best,  how  closely  therewith 
the  arts  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  may  assimilate. 
But  that  which  would  eminently  prosper  in  a  mediate 
connection  with  poetry,  would  have,  in  an  immediate 
connection,  but  an  ill  success.  Poetry  never  carries 
on  with  man  a  special  occupation  ;  and  no  instrument 
more  awkward  could  be  chosen,  for  the  proper  execu- 
tion of  any  isolated  commission,  of  any  detail.  Its 
sphere  of  action  is  the  totality  of  human  nature,  and 
only  so  far  as  it  has  an  influence  upon  the  character, 
can  it  influence  its  single  operations.  Poetry  can  be 
to  man  what  love  is  to  the  hero.  It  can  neither  coun- 
sel him,  nor  smite  with  him,  nor  perform  any  labor 
for  him  :  but  it  can  bring  him  up  to  be  a  hero,  can 
summon  him  to  deeds,  and  arm  him  with  strength  for 
all  that  he  ought  to  be. 

Then  the  aesthetic  power,  with  which  sublimity  of 
intention  and  action  seizes  us,  depends  by  no  means 
upon  the  interest  of  the  reason,  that  something  should 
become  well  done,  but  upon  the  interest  of  the  imagina- 
tion, that  well-doing  should  be  possible  —  that  is,  that 

of  a  pure  poetic  spirit,  opposed  him,  and  his  theory  remained  a  canon 
only  for  a  Hackert."  Goethe  declared  against  his  theory,  and  was 
especially  severe  upon  the  glorifications  of  the  Noackid  :  "  After  the 
waters  of  epic  poetry  have  subsided,  few  pilgrims  will  be  left  to  visit 
the  ruins  of  Bodmer's  ark  on  the  hill  of  Devotion."  —  See  Gervinus, 
iv.  241. 


PATHOS. 


235 


no  sentiment,  however  mighty,  may  be  oppressive  to 
freedom  of  mind.  But  this  possibility  lies  in  every 
strong  expression  of  freedom  and  volitive  power  ;  and 
wherever  a  poet  meets  with  such,  he  has  found  an  ap- 
propriate object  for  his  representation.  As  regards 
his  interest,  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference,  from  what 
class  of  characters,  bad  or  good,  he  selects  his  heroes, 
as  the  same  measure  of  power  which  is  necessary  for 
the  good,  may  in  consequence  be  very  often  demanded 
in  the  bad.  How  much  more  we  regard,  in  our  aes- 
thetic judgments,  the  power  than  the  direction  of  the 
power,  freedom  than  conformity,  is  sufficiently  evident 
from  the  fact  that  we  prefer  to  see  power  and  freedom 
expressed  at  the  expense  of  conformity,  rather  than 
conformity  preserved  at  the  expense  of  power  and 
freedom.  As  soon,  then,  as  cases  occur,  in  which  the 
moral  law  unites  itself  with  motives  that  threaten  to 
carry  away  the  will  by  their  violence,  the  character 
gains  sesthetically,  if  it  is  able  to  resist  these  motives. 
A  vicious  person  begins  to  interest  us,  as  soon  as  he 
must  venture  life  and  happiness,  in  order  to  carry  out 
his  evil  will ;  on  the  contrary,  a  virtuous  person  fails 
to  attract  our  attention  in  the  same  proportion  as  his 
happiness  itself  compels  him  to  act  with  propriety. 
Revenge,  for  example,  is  unquestionably  an  ignoble 
and  a  base  emotion.  Yet  not  the  less  does  it  become 
aesthetic,  as  soon  as  it  costs  the  one  who  exercises  it,  a 
grievous  sacrifice.  When  Medea  murders  her  child- 
ren, she  aims  through  the  deed  at  Jason's  heart,  but 
at  the  same  time  she  inflicts  a  grievous  wound  upon 


236 


PATHOS. 


her  own  ;  and  her  revenge  becomes  aesthetically  sub- 
lime, as  soon  as  she  displays  the  tenderness  of  the 
mother.1 

1  (Tr.)  — The  union  of  mental  power,  of  woman's  revenge  and  of 
maternal  tenderness,  into  one  effect  of  pathetic  sublimity,  is  finely 
represented  by  Seneca,  in  his  tragedy  of  Medea :  Act  v.  Sc.  i.  The 
following  are  parts  of  her  long  soliloquy,  in  the  midst  of  the  flames 
of  Corinth,  set  on  fire  by  her  magical  rites  : 

Seek  some  new  revenge 
Till  now  unheard  of:  rally  all  thy  powers  — 
Break  through  the  barriers  of  shame  and  right : 
A  hand  that's  pure  can  wreak  but  mean  revenge. 
Bend  to  the  task  and  rouse  thy  sluggish  ire, 
And  from  thy  deepest  nature  summon  forth 
Long-smothered  power.    What  I  have  done  till  now, 
Shall  be  called  virtue.    Let  the  nations  know 
How  harmless  and  of  note  how  common  were 
My  former  crimes.    I  simply  tried  my  power  — 
What  could  rude  art  or  girlish  rage  effect  ? 
I  am  Medea  now  —  ills  sharpen  wit. 

Ye  Gods !  I  see  the  goal ! 
My  soul  collect  thyself.    My  children,  come, 
Make  expiation  for  a  father's  guilt. 
Horror  invades  my  heart  —  my  limbs  are  cold, 
And  my  whole  bosom  trembles.    Rage  departs, 
And  all  the  mother  banishes  the  wife. 

Wherefore  does  anger  and  then  love  impel  me  ? 
Contending  passions  make  their  sport  of  me, 
As  when  the  arrowy  winds  wage  furious  war, 
And  swell  the  ocean  with  opposing  waves, 
And  currents  fret  the  deep. 

But  exile  presses  :  even  now, 
Snatched  from  my  bosom  they  are  borne  away 
Weeping  and  grieving.    They  are  lost  to  me  — 


PATHOS. 


237 


Herein  the  aesthetic  judgment  contains  more  that  is 
true,  than  we  commonly  believe.  Vices,  which  testify 
to  a  strength  of  will,  openly  announce  a  greater  dispo- 
sition for  true  moral  freedom,  than  virtues,  which 
steady  themselves  upon  an  inclination  ;  since  it  costs 
the  consequent  wickedness  only  a  single  victory  over 
itself,  a  single  reversal  of  maxims,  in  order  to  apply  to 
goodness  the  whole  consequence  and  ability  of  will, 
which  was  expended  upon  crime.  Otherwise  how 
comes  it,  that  we  repel  with  aversion  a  semi-virtuous 
character,  and  often  follow  with  shuddering  admiration 
one  of  unmitigated  depravity  ?  Unquestionably  be- 
cause we  surrender  with  the  former,  even  the  possibility 
of  an  absolutely  free  will,  while,  with  every  expression 
of  the  latter,  we  perceive  that  he  might  raise  himself  to 
the  whole  dignity  of  humanity  by  a  single  act  of  his 
will. 

Then  in  aesthetic  criticisms  we  are  not  interested 
for  morality  in  itself,  but  only  for  freedom,  and  the 
former  can  please  our  imagination,  only  so  far  as  it 
makes  the  latter  apparent.  Hence  one  evidently  in- 
volves together  proper  limits,  if,  in  aesthetic  things,  he 
demands  moral  conformity,  and  would  force  the  imagi- 
nation out  of  her  legitimate  province,  in  order  to  ex- 
Then  never  let  them  feel  a  father's  kiss. 
O  rage  !  I  follow  thee.    Marshal  the  way. 

Ye  Furies  !  Sear  my  eyeballs 
With  all  your  torches  :  I  am  ripe  for  crime. 
Now  act,  my  soul.    Oblivion  shall  not  hide 
This  last  sad  summoning  of  fortitude. 


238 


PATHOS. 


tend  the  realm  of  reason.  Some  would  either  entirely 
subjugate  her,  thus  gaining  no  aesthetic  effect  at  all, 
or  divide  her  authority  with  the  reason,  thus  gaining 
little  for  morality.  By  attempting  to  pursue  two  differ- 
ent designs,  there  is  danger  that  both  will  fail.  One 
would  fetter  freedom  of  fancy  by  moral  conformity,  and 
destroy  the  necessity  of  reason  by  the  caprice  of  the 
imagination. 


UPON 


THE  SUBLIME. 


THE  SUBLIME. 


"  No  man  must  must,"  said  the  Jew  Nathan  to  the 
Dervis,  and  the  expression  is  true  far  more  extensively, 
than  one  might  at  first  allow.  The  Will  is  the  dis- 
tinctive feature  of  man,  and  reason  itself  is  only  its 
eternal  rule.  All  nature  acts  rationally ;  man's  pre- 
rogative is  only,  that  he  acts  rationally  with  conscious- 
ness and  will.  All  other  things  must ;  man  is  the 
being  who  wills. 

For  this  reason  nothing  is  so  unworthy  of  a  man,  as 
to  suffer  violence,  for  violence  disannuls  him.  Who- 
ever inflicts  it  upon  us,  calls  into  question  nothing 
less  than  humanity ;  whoever  cowardly  submits  to  it, 
forfeits  his  humanity.  But  this  pretension  to  absolute 
freedom  from  all  that  is  violence,  seems  to  presuppose 
a  condition  possessing  sufficient  power,  to  repel  every 
other  power.  If  he  finds  himself  in  a  condition,  which 
does  not  maintain  the  highest  rank  in  the  empire  of 
powers,  there  results  thence  an  unhappy  contradiction 
between  impulse  and  ability. 
16 


242 


THE  SUBLIME. 


Man  is  found  in  this  situation.  Encircled  by  count- 
less powers,  all  of  which  are  superior  and  play  the 
master  over  him,  he  makes  pretensions  by  his  nature, 
that  he  will  endure  no  violence.  It  is  true,  he  ingen- 
iously enhances  his  natural  powers  by  means  of  his  in- 
tellect, and,  up  to  a  certain  point,  actually  succeeds  in 
physically  becoming  lord  over  all  that  is  physical. 
There  are  expedients,  says  the  proverb,  against  every- 
thing, except  Death.  But  this  single  exception,  if  it 
really  is  one  in  the  strictest  sense,  would  remove  the 
whole  conception  of  man.  He  can  never  be  that  being 
who  wills,  if  there  is  even  a  single  case,  where  he  ab- 
solutely must,  what  he  does  not  will.  This  single  hor- 
ror, what  he  only  must  and  does  not  will,  will  haunt 
him  like  a  spectre,  and,  as  is  actually  the  case  with 
most  men,  leave  him  a  prey  to  the  blind  terrors  of 
fancy  ;  his  boasted  freedom  is  absolutely  nothing,  if  he 
is  bound  even  in  a  single  point  alone.  Culture  should 
place  man  in  freedom,  and  be  serviceable  to  him  in 
developing  his  whole  conception.  It  should  thus  make 
him  capable  of  maintaining  his  will  —  for  man  is  the 
being  who  wills. 

This  is  possible  in  a  twofold  manner.  Either  really, 
if  man  opposes  force  to  force,  if,  as  nature,  he  governs 
nature  ;  or  ideally,  if  he  steps  forth  from  nature,  and 
thus  abolishes,  in  respect  to  himself,  the  conception  of 
force.  That  which  is  auxiliary  to  the  first,  is  called 
physical  culture.  Man  develops  his  intellect  and  his 
sensuous  powers,  either  to  convert  the  powers  of  nature 
according  to  their  own  laws,  into  instruments  of  his 


THE  SUBLIME. 


243 


will,  or  to  place  himself  in  safety  from  those  operations 
which  he  cannot  control.  But  the  powers  of  nature 
can  be  governed  or  repulsed  only  up  to  a  certain  point  ; 
she  withdraws  from  the  might  of  man  beyond  this 
point,  and  subjects  him  to  her  own. 

Now  then  his  freedom  would  be  lost,  if  he  was  capa- 
ble of  no  other  than  physical  culture.  But  he  ought  to 
be  a  man  without  exception,  and  consequently  in  no 
case  suffer  anything  against  his  will.  If  then  he  can 
no  longer  oppose  a  proportional  physical  power  to  other 
physical  powers,  nothing  remains,  in  order  to  be  freed 
from  force,  but  entirely  to  annihilate  a  relation  which 
is  so  detrimental  to  him,  and  to  abolish  in  idea  a  force 
which  he  must  suffer  in  fact.  But  abolishing  a  force 
in  idea,  is  nothing  else  than  voluntarily  submitting  to 
it.  That  which  qualifies  him  for  this,  is  called  moral 
culture. 

The  man  of  moral  cultivation,  and  he  alone,  is  en- 
tirely free.  He  is  either  superior  to  nature,  as  a  force, 
or  he  harmonizes  with  her.  Nothing  is  force  which 
she  practises  with  regard  to  him,  for  before  it  comes  to 
him,  it  has  already  become  his  own  action,  and  dynam- 
ical nature  never  reaches  him,  since  he  spontaneously 
withdraws  himself  from  all  that  she  can  reach.  But 
that  this  character,  which  morality  teaches  under  the 
conception  of  resignation  in  necessity,  and  religion 
under  the  idea  of  submission  to  the  divine  ordinances, 
may  become  a  work  of  free  choice  and  reflection 
there  is  requisite  a  greater  clearness  of  thought  and  a 
higher  energy  of  volition,  than  is  wont  to  belong  to 


244 


THE  SUBLIME. 


man  in  active  life.  But  fortunately,  there  is  not  only 
in  his  rational  nature,  a  moral  disposition  which  can  be 
unfolded  by  the  intellect,  but  an  (esthetic  tendency  to 
it  already  exists  in  his  sensuo-rational,  that  is,  his  hu- 
man nature,  which  can  be  stimulated  by  certain  sensi- 
ble objects,  and  cultivated  by  the  purification  of  his 
feelings,  for  this  ideal  excursion  of  the  mind.  At 
present,  I  shall  proceed  from  this  disposition,  which  is 
indeed  according  to  its  conception  and  essence,  ideal, 
but  which  the  realist  himself  sufficiently  manifests  in 
his  life,  although  he  does  not  concede  it  in  his  system.1 
It  is  true,  the  developed  feeling  for  Beauty  already 
succeeds  in  making  us  to  a  certain  extent  independent 
of  nature  as  a  force.  A  mind  which  has  so  far  ennobled 
itself,  as  to  be  more  affected  by  the  form  than  the  sub- 
ject-matter of  things,  and,  without  regard  to  possession, 
to  create  a  free  satisfaction  from  mere  reflection  upon 
the  mode  of  representation  —  such  a  mind  bears  with- 
in itself  an  internal,  indefeasible  fullness  of  life  ;  and 
since  it  is  not  compelled  to  appropriate  the  objects, 
among  which  it  lives,  it  is  not  in  danger  of  being  de- 
prived of  them.  But  after  all,  the  appearance  will 
still  have  a  corporeity,  in  which  it  manifests  itself,  and 
so  long  then,  as  a  need  only  of  beauty  in  appearance 
exists,  a  need  remains  for  the  existence  of  objects  ;  and 
consequently  our  satisfaction  is  still  independent  of  na- 
ture as  a  force,  which  rules  over  the  whole  province  of 

1  As  generally  nothing  can  be  truly  idealistic,  except  what  the 
complete  realist  practises  unconsciously,  and  denies  at  the  expense  of 
consistency. 


THE  SUBLIME. 


245 


being.  That  is  —  it  is  something  entirely  different, 
whether  we  feel  a  desire  for  fair  and  good  objects,  or 
whether  we  only  desire  that  the  objects  already  extant 
should  be  fair  and  good.  The  latter  may  consist  with 
the  highest  mental  freedom,  but  not  the  former  ;  we 
may  demand  that  what  exists  should  be  fair  and  good, 
but  only  wish  that  the  Fair  and  the  Good  would  exist. 
This  mental  inclination,  which  is  indifferent  whether 
the  Fair  and  Good  and  Perfect  exists,  but  desires  with 
rigorous  severity,  that  the  Existing  should  be  fair  and 
good  and  perfect,  is  called  preeminently,  great  and 
sublime,  since  it  contains  all  the  realities  of  a  beautiful 
character,  without  partaking  of  its  limits. 

It  is  a  mark  of  a  good  and  beautiful,  but  always  of 
a  weak  spirit,  ever  to  strive  impatiently  to  realize  its 
moral  ideal,  and  to  be  sorely  tried  by  the  obstacles  to 
this  design.  Such  men  throw  themselves  into  a  gloomy 
dependence  upon  chance,  and  it  may  always  be  pre- 
dicted with  safety,  that  they  concede  too  much  to  the 
material  in  moral  and  aesthetic  things,  and  cannot 
abide  the  highest  test  of  character  and  taste.  That 
which  is  morally  faulty  should  not  induce  passivity 
and  grief,  which  always  evinces  an  unappeased  want 
rather  than  an  unaccomplished  demand.  The  latter 
should  be  accompanied  by  an  active  emotion,  and  ra- 
ther strengthen  and  confirm  the  mind  in  its  power,  than 
make  it  desponding  and  unhappy. 

Nature  gave  us  two  guardian  spirits  for  our  com- 
panions through  life.    One,  familiar  and  agreeable, 


246 


THE  SUBLIME, 


wiles  away  the  tedium  of  the  journey  by  his  lively  sport? 
lightens  the  fetters  of  necessity,  and  conducts  us  with 
joy  and  pleasantry  to  the  perilous  position  where  we 
must  act  as  pure  spirits  and  lay  aside  everything  cor- 
poreal, —  to  the  cognition  of  truth  and  the  practice  of 
duty.  Here  he  deserts  us,  for  his  province  is  only  the 
world  of  sense,  and  his  earth-born  pinions  cannot  bear 
him  out  beyond  it.  But  now  the  other  approaches, 
grave  and  silent ;  and  bears  us  with  vigorous  arm  over 
the  dizzy  abyss. 

We  recognize  in  the  first  of  these  spirits,  the  feeling 
of  Beauty  —  in  the  second,  the  feeling  of  Sublimity. 
It  is  true,  Beauty  is  an  expression  of  freedom,  but  not 
of  that,  which  elevates  us  above  the  force  of  nature  and 
releases  us  from  all  corporeal  influence  —  only  of  that, 
which  we  enjoy  in  the  midst  of  nature  as  men.  We 
feel  ourselves  free  through  Beauty,  since  the  sensuous 
impulses  harmonize  with  the  law  of  reason ;  we  feel 
ourselves  free  through  Sublimity,  since  the  sensuous 
impulses  have  no  influence  upon  the  legislation  of  the 
reason,  since  the  spirit  acts  here,  as  if  it  existed  under 
no  other  laws  than  its  own. 

The  feeling  of  sublimity  is  a  mingled  feeling.  It  is 
a  composition  of  wofulness,  which  in  its  highest  degree 
appears  as  horror,  and  ofjoyfulness,  which  can  amount 
to  transport,  and  although  it  is  not  strictly  pleasure,  is 
still  far  preferred  to  all  pleasure  by  spirits  of  refine- 
ment. This  union  of  two  diverse  perceptions  in  a 
single  feeling,  proves  incontestably  our  moral  independ- 
ence.   For  as  it  is  absolutely  impossible,  that  the 


THE  SUBLIME. 


247 


same  object  should  stand  in  two  opposite  relations  to 
us,  it  follows  hence,  that  we  ourselves  stand  in  two  dif- 
ferent relations  to  the  object —  that  therefore  two  op- 
posite natures  must  be  combined  in  us,  which  are  in- 
terested in  a  manner  totally  opposite  in  the  representa- 
tion of  this  object.  We  perceive,  then,  by  the  feeling 
of  Sublimity,  that  our  spiritual  condition  is  not  neces- 
sarily moulded  according  to  our  sensuous  condition, 
that  the  laws  of  nature  are  not  necessarily  also  our 
own,  and  that  we  possess  an  independent  principle, 
independent  of  every  sensuous  emotion. 

The  sublimity  of  an  object  is  of  a  twofold  nature. 
We  either  refer  it  to  our  comprehensive  power,  and  fail 
in  the  attempt  to  form  for  ourselves  an  image  or  con- 
ception of  it;  or  we  refer  it  to  our  vital  power,  and 
consider  it  as  a  force,  against  which  our  own  sinks 
into  nothing.  But  although  in  both  cases  we  sustain 
the  painful  feeling,  suggested  by  it,  of  our  own  limita- 
tions, yet  we  do  not  avoid  it,  but  rather  are  attracted 
by  it  with  irresistible  power.  Would  this  indeed  be 
possible,  if  the  limits  of  our  fancy  were  at  the  same 
time  the  limits  of  our  comprehension  ?  Would  we 
indeed  fain  be  reminded  of  nature's  omnipotence,  if 
we  had  not  in  reserve  something  besides  what  might 
become  her  prey  ?  We  are  delighted  at  the  sensuo- 
infinite,  since  we  can  imagine  what  the  senses  no 
longer  embrace  and  the  intellect  no  longer  apprehends. 
We  are  inspired  by  the  fearful,  since  we  can  will  what 
the  impulses  abhor,  and  reject  what  they  desire.  We 
readily  leave  the  imagination  to  find  its  master  in  the 


248 


THE  SUBLIME. 


realm  of  phenomena,  for,  after  all,  it  is  only  one  sensu- 
ous power  triumphing  over  another  sensuous  power  ; 
but  nature  in  her  whole  boundlessness  cannot  attain  to 
the  absolute  greatness  within  ourselves.  We  readily 
subject  our  welfare  and  existence  to  physical  necessity, 
for  that  reminds  us,  that  it  has  no  control  over  princi- 
ples. The  man  is  in  its  power,  but  the  will  of  man  is 
his  own. 

And  thus  nature  has  employed  even  a  sensuous 
means,  to  teach  us  that  we  are  more  than  merely  sen- 
suous ;  she  thus  knew  how  to  take  advantage  of  percep- 
tions, to  lead  us  to  the  discovery  that  we  are  nothing 
less  than  slavishly  subject  to  the  force  of  perceptions. 
And  this  is  an  effect  entirely  different  from  that  which 
can  be  accomplished  by  Beauty  ;  that  is,  by  the  Beauty 
of  reality,  for  even  the  sublime  must  lose  itself  in  ideal 
Beauty.  Reason  and  Sense  harmonize  under  the  sway 
of  Beauty,  and  it  possesses  attraction  for  us  only  on 
account  of  this  agreement.  Then  through  Beauty 
alone  we  should  never  perceive,  that  we  are  able  and 
designed  to  demonstrate  ourselves  as  pure  intelli- 
gences. On  the  contrary,  reason  and  sense  do  not 
harmonize  in  the  Sublime,  and  in  this  very  opposition 
between  both  lies  the  magic,  whereby  it  invades  our 
mind.  The  physical  and  the  moral  man  are  here  most 
rigorously  distinguished  from  each  other  ;  for  exactly 
in  those  objects,  where  the  first  only  feels  his  limita- 
tion, the  other  experiences  his  power,  and  is  infinitely 
exalted  by  the  same  thing  which  humbles  the  other  to 
the  dust. 


THE  SUBLIME. 


249 


I  will  assume  that  a  man  should  possess  all  the  vir- 
tues, whose  union  constitutes  the  beautiful  character. 
He  should  find  his  delight  in  the  exercise  of  justice, 
benevolence,  temperance,  independence  and  fidelity  ; 
all  duties,  whose  performance  is  imposed  by  circum- 
stances, should  be  his  pastime,  and  prosperity  should 
make  no  action  difficult  to  him,  ever  invited  to  action 
by  his  philanthropic  heart  alone.  Who  is  not  trans- 
ported at  this  beautiful  unison  of  the  native  impulses 
with  the  prescriptions  of  reason,  and  who  can  refrain 
from  loving  such  a  man  ?  But  indeed  can  we,  with 
all  our  leaning  towards  him,  be  assured  that  he  is  ac- 
tually a  virtuous  man,  and  that  generally  there  is  vir- 
tue ?  If  this  man  aimed  at  nothing  but  agreeable 
perceptions,  he  could  positively  act  no  otherwise,  with- 
out being  a  fool ;  and  to  be  vicious,  he  would  have  to 
despise  his  own  advantage.  It  may  be  that  the  source 
of  his  actions  is  pure,  but  he  must  settle  that  with  his 
own  heart ;  it  is  beyond  our  ken.  We  see  him  do 
nothing  more  than  the  merely  judicious  man  must  do, 
who  makes  pleasure  his  God.  Then  the  world  of  sense 
is  adequate  to  account  for  the  whole  phenomenon  of 
his  virtue,  and  we  are  not  compelled  to  look  beyond  it 
for  a  motive. 

But  suppose  this  same  man  is  suddenly  plunged  into 
the  greatest  misfortune.  Let  one  spoil  him  of  his 
goods,  and  ruin  his  fair  name  ;  let  disease  stretch  him 
upon  a  couch  of  anguish,  and  death  snatch  from  him  all 
whom  he  loves  —  let  all  in  whom  he  confided,  desert 
him  in  his  need.    Seek  him  again  in  this  condition, 


250 


THE  SUBLIME. 


and  demand  of  the  unhappy  man  the  exercise  of  the 
same  virtues  in  which  the  happy  man  had  been  once 
so  prompt.  If  we  find  him  at  such  a  crisis  exactly  the 
same,  if  poverty  has  not  diminished  his  benevolence, 
ingratitude  his  obligingness,  sorrow  his  equanimity,  or 
his  own  adversity  his  sympathy  with  the  prosperity  of 
others,  —  if  we  note  the  change  of  his  circumstances 
in  his  appearance,  but  not  in  his  conduct,  in  the  ma- 
terial, but  not  in  the  form  of  his  actions  —  then  in- 
deed we  are  no  longer  contented  with  an  explanation 
from  the  conception  of  nature,  (according  to  which,  it 
is  absolutely  necessary,  that  the  present  must  be  refer- 
rible  as  an  effect  to  something  past  as  its  cause),  since 
nothing  can  be  more  contradictory  than  that  the  same 
effect  should  remain,  if  the  cause  has  changed  into  its 
opposite.  We  must  then  renounce  every  natural  ex- 
planation, must  cease  entirely  to  derive  the  conduct 
from  the  condition,  and  must  transfer  the  former  from 
the  immutability  of  physical  laws  to  a  motive  entirely 
different,  which,  it  is  true,  the  reason  can  attain  with 
its  ideas,  but  the  intellect  with  its  conceptions  cannot 
embrace.  This  discovery  of  the  absolutely  moral  abil- 
ity, which  depends  upon  no  natural  condition,  gives  to 
the  feeling  of  wofulness  with  which  we  are  seized  at 
the  sight  of  such  a  man,  that  utterly  inexpressible 
charm,  which  no  pleasure  of  the  senses,  however  en- 
nobled  they  may  be,  can  dispute  with  the  Sublime. 

Then  the  Sublime  constructs  for  us  a  passage  from 
the  sensuous  world,  in  which  the  Beautiful  would  fain 
hold  us  always  captive.     Not  gradually,  (for  there 


THE  SUBLIME. 


251 


is  no  transition  from  dependence  to  freedom),  but  sud- 
denly and  by  a  convulsive  movement,  it  tears  the  self- 
dependent  spirit  from  the  meshes  which  a  refined 
sensuousness  had  thrown  around  it,  and  which  bind 
the  stronger,  the  more  transparently  they  are  spun.  If 
it  has  triumphed  ever  so  much  over  a  man  by  the  im- 
perceptible influence  of  an  effeminate  taste ;  if  it  has 
succeeded,  arrayed  in  the  seductive  disguise  of  spirit- 
ual Beauty,  in  forcing  itself  into  the  very  penetralia 
of  moral  legislation,  and  there  poisoning  sacred  prin- 
ciples at  their  source,  —  a  single  sublime  emotion  is 
often  sufficient  to  rend  asunder  this  tissue  of  deceit, 
to  restore  at  once  to  the  fettered  spirit  its  whole  elas- 
ticity, to  impart  a  revelation  of  its  true  destiny,  and  to 
force  upon  it,  at  least  for  a  moment,  a  feeling  of  its 
dignity.  Beauty,  under  the  shape  of  the  goddess 
Calypso,  has  fascinated  the  brave  son  of  Ulysses,  and 
by  the  might  of  her  attractions,  has  held  him  a  long 
time  captive  in  her  island.  He  long  imagines  that  he 
adores  an  immortal  divinity,  while  he  lies  only  in  the 
arms  of  voluptuousness ;  but  a  sublime  influence  in- 
vades him  suddenly  under  the  shape  of  Mentor,  he 
calls  to  mind  his  better  destiny,  throws  himself  into 
the  waves,  and  is  free. 

The  Sublime,  like  the  Beautiful,  is  lavishly  diffused 
through  all  nature,  and  the  susceptibility  for  both  is 
implanted  in  all  men  ;  but  their  germ  develops  un- 
equally, and  must  be  assisted  by  Art.  It  is  already  a 
feature  in  the  design  of  nature,  that  at  first  we  eagerly 


252 


THE  SUBLIME. 


hasten  after  the  Beautiful,  while  we  still  shun  the  Sub- 
lime ;  for  Beauty  is  the  nurse  of  our  infancy,  and 
should  conduct  us  from  our  rude  state  of  nature  to 
refinement.  But  although  she  is  our  first  love,  and 
our  susceptibility  for  her  first  unfolds  itself,  nature  has 
still  provided  that  it  should  ripen  slowly,  and  await  the 
formation  of  the  intellect  and  heart.  If  taste  attained 
its  full  maturity,  before  truth  and  morality  had  been 
planted  in  our  hearts,  in  a  way  better  than  taste  could 
give,  the  sensuous  world  would  forever  remain  the 
limit  of  our  endeavors.  We  should  transcend  it  neither 
in  our  conceptions  nor  sentiments,  and  that  would 
have  no  reality  for  us  which  the  imagination  could  not 
represent.  But  fortunately  it  already  exists  in  the  ten- 
dency of  nature,  that  although  the  taste  blossoms  first, 
it  after  all  attains  its  maturity  only  subsequent  to  all 
the  mental  capabilities.  Sufficient  respite  is  gained 
in  this  interim,  to  furnish  the  head  copiously  with  con- 
ceptions, and  the  breast  with  priceless  principles,  and 
then  specially  to  develop  from  the  reason  the  suscepti- 
bility for  the  great  and  Sublime. 

So  long  as  man  was  only  the  slave  of  physical  ne- 
cessity, and  had  not  yet  found  an  outlet  from  the  nar- 
row circle  of  exigency,  nor  divined  the  lofty  angelic 
freedom  in  his  breast,  incomprehensible  nature  could 
only  remind  him  of  his  limited  imagination,  and  de- 
structive nature  of  his  physical  weakness.  He  must 
then  despondingly  slight  the  former,  and  turn  from  the 
other  with  abhorrence.  But  free  contemplation  has 
hardly  given  him  a  foot-hold  against  the  blind  en- 


THE  SUBLIME. 


253 


croachment  of  natural  powers,  and  he  has  hardly  dis- 
covered, amid  this  tide  of  the  apparent,  something 
Permanent  in  his  own  being,  when  the  savage  masses 
of  nature  around  him  begin  to  speak  far  different  lan- 
guage to  his  heart,  and  external,  relative  greatness  is 
the  mirror,  where  he  sees  reflected  his  internal,  abso- 
lute greatness.  Calmly,  and  with  a  pleasing  fear,  he 
now  approaches  these  bugbears  of  his  imagination, 
and  purposely  summons  the  whole  strength  of  this  fac- 
ulty, to  set  forth  the  sensuo-infinite,  in  order  that,  even 
if  it  succumbs  in  the  attempt,  he  may  feel  more  vividly 
the  superiority  of  his  ideas  over  the  highest  that  sensu- 
ous can  afford.  The  aspect  of  boundless  distance  and 
immeasurable  height,  the  wide  ocean  at  his  feet,  and 
the  greater  ocean  above  him,  rescue  his  spirit  from  the 
narrow  sphere  of  the  actual  and  the  oppressive  con- 
finement of  physical  life.  He  is  presented  with  a 
larger  unit  of  measure  by  the  simple  majesty  of  nature, 
and,  surrounded  by  her  noble  shapes,  his  mind  no 
longer  brooks  the  mean  and  narrow.  Who  knows 
how  many  luminous  thoughts  or  heroic  resolves,  which 
no  saloon  or  student's  cell  would  have  given  to  the 
world,  have  not  sprung  from  this  valorous  conflict  of 
the  mind  with  the  great  spirit  of  nature,  in  a  single 
walk  ?  Who  knows  whether  it  is  not  to  be  ascribed 
in  part  to  a  rarer  intercourse  with  this  great  genius, 
that  the  character  of  the  dweller  in  cities  applies  itself 
so  readily  to  trifles  —  is  stunted  and  withered,  —  if  the 
sense  of  the  nomad  remains  open  and  free  as  the  firm- 
ament, beneath  which  he  pitches  his  tent  ? 


254 


THE  SUBLIME. 


But  not  only  that  which  is  unattainable  for  the  im- 
agination, the  Sublime  of  quantity,  but  also  that  which 
is  incomprehensible  for  the  intellect,  disorder,  can 
serve  to  set  forth  the  supersensuous,  and  give  an  im- 
pulse to  the  mind,  as  soon  as  it  acquires  the  property 
of  greatness,  and  announces  itself  as  a  work  of  nature, 
(for  otherwise  it  is  contemptible).  Who  does  not 
rather  linger  amid  the  spirited  disorder  of  a  natural 
landscape,  than  in  the  insipid  regularity  of  a  French 
garden  ?  Who  does  not  rather  admire  the  wonderful 
contest  between  fertility  and  desolation  on  the  plains 
of  Sicily,  and  more  willingly  feast  his  eyes  with  the 
wild  cataracts  and  cloud-peaks  of  Scotland,  than  won- 
der at  the  meagre  triumph  of  patience  over  a  froward 
element  in  starched  and  formal  Holland  1  No  one 
will  deny,  that  the  physical  man  is  better  provided  for 
in  the  meadows  of  Batavia,  than  beneath  the  treacher- 
ous crater  of  Vesuvius,  and  that  a  comprehensive  and 
methodical  intellect  finds  its  account  in  a  regular 
kitchen  garden,  far  more  than  in  a  wild,  natural  land- 
scape. But  man  has  a  want  beyond  his  life  and  wel- 
fare, and  a  better  destiny  than  to  comprehend  the 
phenomena  that  surround  him. 

That  which  makes  the  wild  singularity  of  the  physi- 
cal creation  so  attractive  to  the  susceptible  traveller, 
opens  for  an  enthusiastic  mind,  even  in  the  dangerous 
anarchy  of  the  moral  world,  the  source  of  a  pleasure 
entirely  unique.  He,  forsooth,  who  illuminates  the 
great  economy  of  nature  with  the  meagre  torch  of  in- 
tellect, and  forever  plots  only  to  harmonize  her  bold 


THE  SUBLIME. 


255 


disorder,  can  never  be  satisfied  in  a  world,  where  insane 
chance  seems  to  govern  rather  than  a  wise  plan,  and 
merit  and  fortune  stand  in  opposition  to  each  other,  in 
by  far  the  majority  of  cases.  He  will  have  everything 
in  the  great  world-system  regulated  as  in  a  good  hotel, 
and  if  he  misses,  as  it  cannot  otherwise  be,  this  want 
of  conformity,  nothing  remains  for  him  but  to  expect, 
from  a  future  existence  and  another  nature,  that  satis- 
faction which  is  owed  to  him  by  the  present  and  past. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  he  readily  resigns  the  wish  to  bring 
this  lawless  chaos  of  phenomena  under  a  unity  of 
cognition,  his  loss  on  one  side  is  amply  restored  on 
the  other.  Thus  universal  deficiency  of  a  designed 
connection  among  this  throng  of  phenomena,  whereby 
they  exceed,  and  become  useless  to,  the  intellect,  which 
must  adhere  to  this  connective  form,  is  the  very  thing 
that  makes  them  a  symbol,  so  much  the  more  striking  for 
the  pure  reason,  which  finds  its  own  independence  or 
natural  conditions  represented  in  this  wild  license  of 
nature.  For  if  we  destroy  all  connection  in  a  series  of 
things,  we  have  the  conception  of  independence,  which 
coincides  surprisingly  with  the  pure  rational  concep- 
tion of  freedom.  Then  under  this  idea  of  freedom, 
which  the  reason  obtains  out  of  itself,  it  embraces  in 
one  unity  of  thought,  what  the  intellect  can  unite  in 
no  unity  of  cognition,  —  subjects,  by  this  idea,  the  in- 
finite play  of  phenomena,  and  maintains  then  at  the 
same  time,  its  power  over  the  understanding,  as  a  sen- 
suously conditioned  faculty.  If  we  now  recollect  how 
a  rational  being  must  esteem  the  consciousness  of  no 


256 


THE  SUBLIME. 


independence  of  the  law  of  nature,  we  can  comprehend 
how  it  happens,  that  men  of  elevated  dispositions  can 
regard  themselves  indemnified  by  this  idea  of  freedom 
imparted  to  them,  for  all  the  disappointments  of  cog- 
nition. Freedom  in  all  their  moral  contradictions  and 
physical  evils,  is  a  spectacle  for  noble  minds,  infinitely 
more  interesting  than  welfare  and  regularity  without 
freedom,  where  the  sheep  patiently  follow  the  shep- 
herd, and  the  self-ruling  will  is  degraded  into  the  sub- 
servient fragment  of  a  machine.  The  latter  makes 
man  only  an  animated  product  and  prosperous  citizen 
of  nature  ;  freedom  makes  him  a  citizen  and  co-ruler 
of  a  higher  system,  where  it  is  infinitely  more  noble  to 
occupy  the  lowest  place,  than  to  lead  the  series  in  the 
physical  plan. 

Considered  from  this  point  of  view,  and  only  from 
this,  universal  history  is  a  sublime  spectacle  to  me. 
The  world,  as  a  historical  object,  is  in  fact  only  the 
conflict  of  the  powers  of  nature  among  themselves  and 
with  man's  freedom,  and  history  acquaints  us  with  the 
results  of  this  contest.  So  far  as  history  has  hitherto 
attained,  it  has  far  greater  deeds  to  relate  of  nature 
(which  includes  every  human  emotion),  than  of  the 
abstract  reason  ;  and  the  latter  has  been  able  to  assert 
its  power  only  by  isolated  exceptions  to  nature's  law, 
in  a  Cato,  Aristides,  Phocion,  and  men  of  like  stamp. 
If  we  only  approach  history  with  a  great  expectation 
of  light  and  knowledge,  how  signally  are  we  deceived ! 
Every  well-meant  effort  of  philosophy,  to  harmonize 
that  which  the  moral  world  demands,  with  that  which 


THE  SUBLIME. 


257 


the  actual  affords,  is  falsified  by  the  testimony  of  ex- 
perience ;  and  nature  equals  the  courtesy  with  which 
she  directs  or  seems  to  direct  herself,  in  her  organic 
realm,  according  to  the  regulative  principles  of  criti- 
cism, by  the  lawlessness  with  which,  in  the  realm  of 
freedom,  she  casts  off  the  restraint  that  the  speculative 
spirit  would  fain  impose  upon  her. 

How  entirely  different,  if  we  desist  from  explaining 
her,  and  receive  her  incomprehensibility  as  the  stand- 
point for  criticism.  The  very  circumstance  that  na- 
ture, considered  in  the  mass,  derides  all  the  rules  that 
our  understanding  prescribes  to  her  —  that,  in  her 
free,  capricious  gait,  she  tramples  in  the  dust  with  like 
indifference  the  creations  of  wisdom  and  of  chance  — 
that  she  hurries  along  to  one  ruin,  the  important  as 
well  as  the  insignificant,  the  noble  as  well  as  the  com- 
mon —  that,  here,  she  sustains  an  ant-hill,  there,  em- 
braces and  crushes  in  her  giant  arms,  man,  her  lordliest 
creation  —  that,  in  a  wanton  hour,  she  often  dissipates 
her  most  hardly-won  acquisitions,  and  often  expends 
centuries  upon  a  work  of  folly  ;  —  in  a  word  —  this  de- 
fection of  nature,  as  a  totality,  from  the  cognitive  rules 
to  which  she  is  subject  in  her  single  modes,  evinces 
the  absolute  impossibility  of  explaining  nature  herself 
by  the  laws  of  nature,  and  of  applying  to  her  realm, 
the  laws  that  are  valid  within  it ;  the  mind,  then,  is  ir- 
resistibly impelled  from  the  actual  into  the  ideal  world, 
from  the  conditional  into  the  absolute. 

A  terrific  and  destructive  nature  controls  us  much 
further  than  one  that  wears  a  sensuo-infinite  aspect, 
17 


258 


THE  SUBLIME. 


that  is,  so  long  as  we  remain  only  her  free  observers. 
Indeed,  the  sensuous  man  and  the  sensuousness  in  the 
rational  man,  fear  nothing  so  much  as  to  fall  out  with 
this  force,  whose  sway  extends  over  welfare  and  exist- 
ence. 

The  highest  ideal  to  which  we  aspire  is,  to  preserve 
a  good  understanding  with  the  physical  world,  as  the 
guardian  of  our  prosperity,  without  being  thereby  com- 
pelled to  break  with  the  moral  world,  which  determines 
our  dignity.  But,  as  all  our  knowledge  teaches,  it  is 
ever  impossible  to  serve  both  masters ;  and  even  if  duty 
(a  case  almost  impossible)  should  never  clash  with  ex- 
igency, still  natural  necessity  enters  into  no  compact 
with  man,  and  neither  his  power  nor  his  dexterity  can 
secure  him  against  the  tricks  of  fortune.  Well  for 
him,  then,  if  he  has  learned  to  endure  what  he  cannot 
alter,  and  to  resign  with  dignity  what  he  cannot  pre- 
serve !  Cases  may  occur,  when  fate  storms  all  the 
outworks  on  which  he  relied  for  security,  and  when 
nothing  remains  for  him  but  to  take  refuge  in  the  in- 
violability of  spiritual  freedom  ;  when  there  are  no 
other  means  to  pacify  the  native  impulse,  than  to  will 
so  —  and  no  other  method  of  withstanding  the  force  of 
nature,  than  by  anticipating  it,  and,  by  a  free  surrender 
of  all  sensuous  interests,  dying  by  his  own  moral  force 
before  he  falls  a  victim  to  physical  force. 

He  is  strengthened  for  this  purpose  by  sublime  emo- 
tions, and  a  more  frequent  communion  with  destruc- 
tive nature,  as  well  there,  where  she  only  shows  to  him 
from  afar  her  ruinous  might,  as  where  she  actually 


THE  SUBLIME. 


259 


displays  it  against  his  fellow-man.  Pathos  is  an  artistic 
misfortune,  which,  like  genuine  misfortune,  places 
us  in  immediate  contact  with  the  spiritual  law  that 
reio-ns  in  our  breast.  But  genuine  misfortune  does  not 
always  choose  well  its  man  and  its  time ;  it  often  sur- 
prises us  defenceless,  and,  what  is  still  worse,  it  often 
makes  us  defenceless.  On  the  contrary,  the  artistic 
misfortune  of  Pathos  finds  us  completely  armed,  and 
since  it  is  only  feigned,  the  self-dependent  principle 
within  us  wins  space  to  maintain  its  absolute  indepen- 
dence. Now  the  oftener  that  the  spirit  renews  this 
act  of  spontaneity,  the  more  facility  will  it  acquire, 
and  a  greater  advantage  over  the  sensuous  impulse,  so 
that  finally,  even  if  a  feigned  and  artistic  misfortune 
becomes  a  serious  one,  it  is  prepared  to  treat  it  as  art- 
istic, and  to  dissolve  genuine  sorrow  in  a  sublime  emo- 
tion —  which  is  the  highest  effort  of  human  nature. 
Then  we  may  say  that  Pathos  is  an  inoculation  of  in- 
exorable fate,  whereby  it  is  robbed  of  its  malignity,  and 
its  attack  is  shifted  to  the  stronger  side  of  man. 

Away  then  with  the  mistaken  forbearance  and  the 
weakly  pampered  taste,  which  casts  a  veil  over  the 
grave  countenance  of  necessity,  and  in  order  to  find 
favor  with  the  senses,  counterfeits  a  harmony  between 
well-being  and  well-doing,  of  which  no  traces  are  man- 
ifest in  the  actual  world.  Let  the  evil  relation  con- 
front us  face  to  face.  There  is  salvation  for  us,  not  in 
an  ignorance  of  the  perils  which  beleaguer  us,  —  for 
this  cannot  always  be  maintained  —  but  in  an  acquaint- 
ance with  them.    We  are  aided  in  forming  this  ac- 


260 


THE  SUBLIME. 


quaintance  by  the  fearfully  magnificent  spectacle  of 
all-destroying,  re-producing,  and  again  destroying  mu- 
tation —  of  ruin,  now  slowly  undermining,  now  sud- 
denly invading — by  the  pathetic  pictures  of  humanity 
yielding  in  the  struggle  with  destiny,  of  the  incessant 
flight  of  prosperity,  of  betrayed  security,  of  triumphant 
injustice  and  of  prostrate  innocence,  which  history 
furnishes  abundantly,  and  which  tragic  art  brings  with 
imitative  skill  before  our  eyes.  For  where  is  the  man 
with  a  moral  disposition  not  utterly  neglected,  who  can 
linger  amid  such  scenes  as  the  stubborn  yet  fruitless 
struggle  of  Mithridates,  the  downfall  of  Syracuse  and 
Carthage,  without  doing  shuddering  homage  to  the 
stern  law  of  necessity,  without  instantly  curbing  his 
desires,  and,  invaded  by  this  eternal  falsity  of  all  the 
Sensuous,  grasping  at  the  Permanent  within  his  breast  1 
Then  the  capacity  for  perceiving  the  Sublime  is 
one  of  the  noblest  tendencies  of  human  nature,  which 
as  well  merits  our  respect  for  its  origin  from  the  self- 
acting  faculty  of  thought  and  will,  as  it  deserves  the 
fullest  development,  on  account  of  its  influence  upon 
the  moral  man.  Beauty  only  recommends  itself  to 
man,  the  Sublime  to  the  pure  dcuf/wv  within  him  ;  and 
since  after  all  we  are  destined  to  govern  ourselves  in 
every  sensuous  limitation  according  to  the  code  of  pure 
spirit,  the  Sublime  must  be  added  to  the  Beautiful,  in 
order  to  complete  the  totality  of  aesthetic  culture,  and 
to  extend  the  susceptibility  of  the  human  heart  to  the 
whole  circumference  of  our  destiny  —  consequently  be- 
yond the  world  of  sense. 


THE  SUBLIME. 


261 


Without  Beauty  there  would  be  lasting  strife  be- 
tween our  natural  and  our  purely  rational  destiny. 
We  should  neglect  our  humanity  in  the  endeavor  to 
satisfy  our  spirituality,  and,  every  moment  prepared 
for  a  disruption  from  the  world  of  sense,  should  con- 
stantly remain  aliens  in  the  sphere  of  action  once  for 
all  assigned  to  us.  Beauty  without  Sublimity  would 
lead  us  to  forget  our  dignity.  We  should  mar  the 
vigor  of  character  in  the  enervation  of  an  uninterrupted 
enjoyment,  and  should  lose  sight  of  our  unalterable 
destiny  and  our  true  father-land,  while  indissolubly 
bound  to  this  contingent  form  of  being.  Only  if  Sub- 
limity is  wedded  to  Beauty,  and  our  susceptibility  for 
both  is  equally  developed,  are  we  finished  citizens  of 
nature,  without  consequently  being  her  slaves,  and 
without  forfeiting  our  citizenship  in  the  world  of  in- 
telligence. 

It  is  true,  nature  already  exhibits  for  herself  alone  a 
crowd  of  objects,  which  might  exercise  the  susceptibil- 
ity for  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful :  but  man  here,  as 
in  other  cases,  is  better  served  at  second  than  at  first 
hand,  and  prefers  to  receive  a  subject  selected  and 
prepared  by  art,  rather  than  to  draw  scantily  and  pain- 
fully from  the  impure  sources  of  nature.  The  imita- 
tive plastic  impulse,  which  can  permit  no  impression, 
without  immediately  striving  after  a  lively  expression, 
and  which  sees  in  every  great  or  beautiful  form  of  na- 
ture a  challenge  to  wrestle  with  her,  has  the  great  ad- 
vantage over  the  latter,  of  being  permitted  to  treat  as 
the  chief  design  and  a  proper  whole,  that  which  nature 


262 


THE  SUBLIME. 


—  if  she  does  not  quite  aimlessly  reject  —  yet  only  un- 
dertakes by  the  way,  during  the  prosecution  of  a  more 
contiguous  design.  If  nature  suffers  violence  in  her 
fair  organic  creations,  either  by  the  imperfect  individ- 
uality of  substance  or  by  the  operation  of  heterogen- 
eous powers,  or  if  she  exercises  violence  in  her  great 
and  pathetic  scenes,  and  acts  as  a  force  upon  man, 
although  she  can  become  aesthetic  only  when  an  object 
of  free  contemplation,  yet  her  imitator,  creative  art,  is 
completely  free,  because  she  abstracts  all  contingent  lim- 
itations from  her  object,  and  leaves  the  mind  of  the  be- 
holder free,  because  she  imitates  only  the  show  and 
not  the  reality.  But  as  the  whole  enchantment  of  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful  consists  only  in  the  show  and 
not  in  the  contents,  art  has  every  advantage  over  na- 
ture, without  sharing  her  fetters.1 

1  (Tr.)  —  Jean  Paul,  in  his  Vorschule  der  JEsthetik,  seems  to  dis- 
sent from  Schiller  as  to  the  question,  in  what  does  Sublimity  consist  ? 
Though  Jean  Paul  has  upon  this  subject  as  upon  every  other,  no 
severely  defined  system,  and  sometimes  imagines  instead  of  deter- 
mines, yet  his  remarks  are  notable,  and  also  appropriate  here.  After 
stating  that  Kant,  and  after  him,  Schiller,  make  the  Sublime  to  con- 
sist in  an  Infinite,  which  sense  and  imagination  fail  to  give  and  com- 
prehend, but  which  the  Reason  creates  and  retains  —  he  says  :  "  but 
the  Sublime,  for  example,  a  sea,  a  high  mountain,  cannot  be  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  senses,  because  they  embrace  that  in  which  the  Sub- 
lime first  dwells  (conceptions  of  Time  and  Space) :  the  same  is  true 
of  the  imagination  which  previously  constructs,  in  its  infinite  wastes 
and  aether-heights,  the  infinite  Space  for  the  sublime  pyramids.  Fur- 
ther, it  is  true  that  the  Sublime  is  always  joined  with  a  sensuous  symbol 
(in  or  out  of  us),  but  this  often  lays  no  claim  at  all  to  the  powers  of 
fancy  and  of  sense.    So,  for  example,  in  that  oriental  poem  where  the 


THE  SUBLIME. 


263 


prophet  awaits  a  token  that  the  Divinity  is  passing  by,  who  was 
not  in  the  fire,  nor  in  the  thunder,  nor  in  the  whirlwind,  but  who 
comes  at  last  in  a  soft,  low  voice,  the  tranquil  symbol  is  evidently 
more  sublime  than  one  which  is  majestic.  So  aesthetic  sublimity  of 
action  stands  in  an  inverse  relation  to  the  importance  of  the  sensuous 
symbol — and  only  the  smallest  is  the  sublimest ;  in  this  case  Jupi- 
ter's eye-brows  move  more  sublimely  than  his  arm  or  than  himself. 

"  Further,  Kant  divides  the  Sublime  into  mathematical  and  dynam- 
ical, or  as  Schiller  expresses  it,  into  that  which  exceeds  our  compre- 
hensive ability,  and  that  which  threatens  our  life.  Briefly,  it  might  be 
called  the  Quantitative  and  the  Qualitative,  or  the  external  and  the 
internal.  But  the  eye  can  never  make  intuition  of  any  other  than  a 
quantitative  sublimity  ;  no  intuition,  but  only  a  conclusion  from  ex- 
perience, can  give  to  an  abyss,  a  stormy  sea,  a  sliding  cliff,  dynami- 
cal sublimity.  How  then  is  intuition  made  of  such  ?  By  the  ear^ 
which  is  the  direct  ambassador  of  power  and  of  horror —  as  in  the 
thunder  of  clouds,  of  the  ocean,  of  cataracts,  the  roaring  of  lions,  &c. 
A  man  without  any  empirical  knowledge  will  tremble  at  audible 
greatness  ;  but  every  example  of  visible  greatness  would  only  raise 
and  expand  him. 

"  If  I  define  the  Sublime  as  related  infinity,  there  is  a  fivefold,  or  also 
a  threefold  division  to  be  made  ;  that  related  to  the  eye  (the  mathe- 
matical or  optical  Sublime)  —  to  the  ear  (the  dynamical  or  audible) 
—  then  the  imagination  must  refer  the  infinity  again  to  its  own  quan- 
titative and  qualitative  sensuousness,  as  boundlessness,*  and  as  divin- 
ity —  and  then  there  is  still  the  third  or  fifth  Sublimity,  which  manifests 
itself  exactly  in  an  inverse  relation  to  the  external  or  internal  sensu- 
ous symbol  —  namely  the  moral  or  active  Sublime. 

"Now  how  does  the  Infinite  become  related  precisely  to  a  sensuous 
object,  if  the  latter,  as  I  have  shown,  is  less  than  the  capacity  of 
sense  and  imagination?  The  enormous  leap  from  the  sensuous  as 
symbol  into  the  supersensuous  as  the  symbolized  —  which  Pathogno- 
my  and  Physiognomy  must  make  every  moment  —  is  made  possible 
only  by  Nature,  and  by  no  mediate  idea;  for  example,  between  the 
mimic  expression  of  hatred  and  hatred  itself — nay,  between  word 
and  idea,  there  is  no  equation.    But  the  conditions  must  be  found, 

*  Eternity  is  a  mathematical  or  optical  Sublimity  for  the  imacination  ;  or 
thus  —  Time  is  the  infinite  line,  Eternity  the  infinite  surface,  Divinity  the 
dynamical  fulness. 


264 


THE  SUBLIME. 


under  which  one  sensuous  object  is  preferable  to  another  as  a  spirit- 
ual symbol.  The  ear  requires  both  extension  and  intension :  the 
tone  of  thunder  must  be  prolonged  as  well  as  loud.  As  we  can  make 
intuition  of  no  power  but  our  own,  and  as  voice  is,  so  to  speak,  the 
parole  of  life,  it  is  evident  why  the  ear  designates  the  Sublime  of 
power.  And  a  rapid  comparison  of  our  own  tones  with  foreign  ones 
is  not  thereby  to  be  entirely  excluded.  Even  silence  may  be  Sublime ; 
as  that  of  a  bird  of  prey  floating  silently  —  the  calm  before  a  tempest 
—  and  that  between  the  lightning  and  the  thunder. 

"  Many  cases  present  themselves  for  investigation :  for  example, 
those  in  which  the  different  kinds  of  the  Sublime  are  combined  —  as 
the  waterfall,  which  is  both  mathematically  and  dynamically  great  — 
so  also  a  tempestuous  sea.  Another  point  is,  what  relation  does  this  re- 
lated infinity  of  Nature  bear  to  the  infinity  of  Art  —  since  the  imagina- 
tion refers  to  the  reason  in  both  ?  Then  there  are  many  objections  to  the 
Kantian  principle  of  '  pain  at  every  Sublimity  ;'  especially  this,  that 
according  to  Kant  the  greatest  Sublime,  that  is,  God,  must  give  the 
greatest  pain ;  and  so  to  the  other  Kantian  proposition,  that  after  the 
Sublime  everything  is  little,  it  may  be  objected,  that  there  are  de- 
grees even  of  Sublimity,  not  as  infinite,  but  as  related ;  for  example, 
a  clear  starlight  over  a  sleeping  sea  does  not  so  mightily  elevate  the 
soul,  as  a  storm-heaven  with  its  storm-sea,  —  and  God  is  more  Sub- 
lime than  a  mountain." 

For  a  further  exposition  of  Schiller's  theory  of  the  Sublime,  see 
the  second  part  of  the  Essay  upon  Various  ^Esthetic  Subjects — en- 
titled, "  ^Esthetic  Estimation  of  Size." 


THOUGHTS 

UPON  THE  USE  OF 

THE  COMMON  AND  LOW 

IN  ART. 


THE  COMMON  AND  LOW. 


Everything  is  Common  which  does  not  address  the 
spirit,  and  which  excites  only  a  sensuous  interest.  It 
is  true,  there  are  a  thousand  things  which  are  previously 
common  in  the  matter  or  content :  but  since  the  com- 
mon in  matter  can  be  ennobled  by  the  treatment  it  re- 
ceives, we  speak  in  Art  only  of  the  Common  in  form. 
An  ordinary  man  will  disgrace  the  noblest  material  by 
an  ordinary  treatment :  on  the  contrary,  a  great  head 
and  a  refined  spirit  knows  how  to  ennoble  the  Com- 
mon itself,  because  he  connects  it  with  something  spir- 
itual, and  exposes  its  most  favorable  side.  Thus  a 
historian  of  the  common  stamp,  will  inform  us  as  so- 
licitously of  his  hero's  most  insignificant  affairs  as  of 
his  noblest  deeds,  and  dwell  as  long  upon  his  pedigree, 
dress  and  domestic  economy,  as  upon  his  schemes  and 
undertakings.  He  will  so  relate  his  greatest  deeds, 
that  no  man  will  take  them  for  what  they  are.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  historian  of  genius  and  enlarged  ca- 
pacity will  infuse  even  into  the  private  life  and  the  in- 


268 


THE   COMMON  AND  LOW. 


different  actions  of  his  hero  an  interest  and  a  capacity 
which  makes  them  notable.  In  creative  art  the  Flem- 
ish painters  have  an  ordinary  taste  :  the  Italians,  but 
still  more,  the  Greeks,  a  great  and  noble  taste.  The 
latter  continually  sought  the  ideal,  rejected  every  com- 
mon trait,  and  selected  too  no  common  material. 

A  portrait  painter  can  treat  his  subject  in  a  style 
both  Common  and  Great ;  Common,  if  he  sets  forth  the 
contingent  as  carefully  as  the  necessary,  if  he  neglects 
the  great,  and  solicitously  brings  out  the  little ;  Great, 
if  he  knows  how  to  discover  the  most  interesting  traits, 
separating  the  accidental  from  the  necessary,  bringing 
out  the  great  and  only  indicating  the  little.  But  no- 
thing is  Great,  except  the  expression  of  soul  in  actions, 
features  and  positions. 

A  poet  treats  his  subject  in  a  common  way,  if  he 
brings  out  unimportant  actions  and  passes  hastily  over 
the  important.  He  treats  it  in  a  great  way,  if  he  unites 
it  with  the  Great.  Homer  knew  how  to  give  a  spirited 
treatment  to  the  shield  of  Achilles,  although  the  ma- 
terial fabrication  of  a  shield  is  something  very  com- 
mon. 

The  Low  stands  yet  one  degree  below  the  Common, 
and  is  distinguished  from  it  by  the  fact,  that  it  indicates 
not  only  something  negative,  not  only  a  want  of  the 
spiritual  and  noble,  but  something  positive,  namely 
rudeness  of  feeling,  bad  manners  and  degraded  senti- 
ments. The  Common  only  springs  from  an  absent 
superiority  which  is  desirable,  the  Low  from  the  de- 
ficiency of  a  quality,  which  may  be  required  of  both. 


THE   COMMON  AND  LOW. 


269 


For  example,  revenge,  wherever  it  is  to  be  found,  and 
however  it  may  be  displayed,  is  in  itself  something 
common,  since  it  manifests  a  want  of  magnanimity. 

But  we  make  a  particular  distinction  of  a  low  re- 
venge, if  the  man  who  exercises  it,  uses  disgraceful 
means  to  satisfy  it.  The  low  always  indicates  some- 
thing coarse  and  clownish,  but  even  a  man  of  birth 
and  better  manners,  may  think  and  act  in  a  common 
way,  if  he  possesses  moderate  gifts.  A  man  acts  in  a 
common  way  who  only  thinks  of  his  own  interest,  and 
so  far  he  is  the  opposite  of  the  noble  man,  who  can  for- 
get himself,  in  order  to  create  enjoyment  for  another. 
But  the  former  would  act  in  a  low  way,  if  he  pros- 
ecuted his  interest  at  the  expense  of  his  honor,  without 
ever  respecting  the  laws  of  propriety.  The  common, 
then,  is  opposed  to  the  noble ;  the  low,  at  the  same 
time  to  the  noble  and  the  proper.  To  yield  to  every 
passion  unresistingly,  to  satisfy  every  impulse,  without 
even  acknowledging  the  restraint  of  decorum,  much 
Jess  of  morality,  is  low,  and  betrays  an  abject  soul. 

In  works  of  art  also,  the  low  may  be  apparent,  not 
only  by  selecting  low  objects,  which  a  sense  of  fitness 
and  propriety  forbids,  but  also  by  treating  them  in  a 
low  way.  We  so  treat  an  object,  either  if  we  render 
that  side  conspicuous  which  propriety  demands  should 
be  concealed,  or  if  we  give  it  an  expression  which 
suggests  low,  accessory  representations.  Low  inci- 
dents occur  in  the  life  of  the  greatest  man,  but  only 
a  low  taste  would  select  and  portray  them. 

We  find  scriptural  paintings,  where  the  apostle,  the 


270 


THE   COMMON  AND  LOW. 


Virgin  and  Christ  himself  have  an  expression,  as  if  they 
had  been  selected  from  the  commonest  rabble.  All 
such  productions  evince  a  low  taste,  which  justifies  us 
in  inferring  a  rude  and  vulgar  mind  in  the  artist  him- 
self. 

There  are  cases,  it  is  true,  where  even  in  art  the  low 
may  be  allowed  ;  there,  namely,  where  its  object  is  to  ex- 
cite laughter.  Even  a  man  of  refinement  may  sometimes 
divert  himself  with  the  rude  but  true  expressions  of  na- 
ture, and  with  the  contrast  between  the  manners  of  the 
polite  and  vulgar,  without  betraying  a  depraved  taste. 
The  intoxication  of  a  man  of  rank,  wherever  it  occurred, 
would  excite  disgust;  but  we  laugh  at  drunken  postil- 
ions, sailors,  and  barrow-men.  Jests,  which  would  be 
insupportable  in  an  educated  man,  divert  us  in  the 
mouth  of  the  rabble.  Many  scenes  of  Aristophanes 
are  of  this  kind,  which  however  sometimes  transgress 
these  limits,  and  become  utterly  despicable.  For  this 
reason  we  are  amused  with  Parodies,  in  which  senti- 
ments, expressions  and  exploits  of  the  common  people 
are  palmed  off  upon  people  of  quality,  and  treated  by 
the  poet  with  all  possible  propriety  and  dignity.  As 
soon  as  the  poet  only  aims  at  creating  a  laughing-stock, 
and  only  wishes  to  divert  us,  we  may  overlook  all  that 
is  low,  but  he  must  not  excite  aversion  or  disgust. 

He  excites  aversion,  if  he  introduces  the  low  where 
we  cannot  possibly  tolerate  it  —  in  men  namely,  from 
whom  we  are  justified  in  expecting  better  manners. 
If  he  treats  his  subject  not  in  accordance  with  this, 
he  offends  either  the  truth,  since  we  should  prefer  to 


THE  COMMON  AND  LOW. 


271 


esteem  him  a  deceiver,  than  believe  that  men  of  culture 
could  really  act  in  so  low  a  way  •  or  his  men  offend 
our  moral  feeling,  and  what  is  still  worse,  excite  our 
indignation.  It  is  quite  another  thing  in  Farce,  as 
there  is  an  implied  agreement  between  the  author  and 
the  audience,  so  that  no  one  has  any  expectation  of 
truth.  In  a  Farce  we  absolve  the  author  from  all 
fidelity  in  delineation,  and  he  gets,  as  it  were,  a  privi- 
lege to  deceive  us.  For  the  Comic  is  founded  upon  its 
very  contrast  with  truth  \  but  it  could  not  possibly  ex- 
ist at  the  same  time  as  truth  and  as  contrast. 

But  there  are  a  few  cases  even  in  the  serious  and 
tragic,  where  the  low  may  be  introduced.  Yet  then 
it  must  pass  over  into  the  fearful,  and  the  momentary 
offence  of  taste  must  be  counteracted  by  a  powerful 
employment  of  emotion,  and  become  as  it  were,  swal- 
lowed up  by  a  deeply  tragical  effect.  Theft,  for  ex- 
ample, is  something  absolutely  low,  and  whatever 
apology  for  the  thief  our  heart  may  suggest,  however 
much  he  may  have  been  impelled  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, still  an  indelible  mark  is  stamped  upon 
him,  and  aesthetically  considered,  he  always  remains  a 
low  object.  Here  taste  pardons  still  less  than  moral- 
ity, and  its  tribunal  is  more  severe,  since  an  aesthetic 
object  is  answerable  also  for  all  the  accessory  ideas 
which  it  suggests  to  us ;  as  on  the  other  hand,  every- 
thing contingent  is  abstracted  by  a  moral  criticism. 
Therefore  a  man  who  steals,  will  be  a  most  despicable 
object  for  any  poetical  representation  with  a  serious 
content.    But  if  the  man  is  a  murderer  at  the  same 


272 


4H  ^^il.. 

THE  COMMON  AND  LOW. 


time,  he  is  to  be  sure,  still  more  despicable  morally, 
but  he  is  a  degree  more  tolerable  cesthetically.  He 
who  debases  himself  by  a  deed  of  infamy  (I  only  speak 
now  of  things  aesthetically  considered)  may  be  some- 
what reelevated  and  reestablished  in  our  (Esthetic  re- 
gard, by  a  crime.  This  divergence  of  the  moral  from 
the  aesthetic  judgment  is  remarkable,  and  merits  atten- 
tion. We  might  adduce  many  causes  for  it.  In  the 
first  place,  I  have  already  said,  that  since  the  aesthetic 
judgment  depends  upon  the  fancy,  all  accessory  repre- 
sentations also,  which  are  excited  by  an  object,  and 
stand  in  natural  connexion  with  it,  influence  this  judg- 
ment. If  now  these  accessory  representations  are  of  a 
low  kind,  they  inevitably  degrade  the  principal  object 
whence  they  result. 

Secondly,  in  an  aesthetic  criticism  we  regard  power, 
in  a  moral  criticism,  conformity  to  law.  Want  of 
power  is  something  contemptible,  and  equally  so  is 
every  action,  which  leaves  us  to  infer  it.  Every  base 
and  cowardly  deed  is  repugnant  to  us  by  the  want  of 
power  which  it  betrays ;  and  inversely  a  diabolical  act 
may  please  us  cesthetically,  as  soon  as  it  only  evinces 
power.  But  a  theft  shows  a  base  and  cowardly  dispo- 
sition, —  a  murder  has  at  least  the  show  of  power  ;  and 
that  degree  of  interest  which,  aesthetically,  we  take  in 
the  act,  corresponds  to  the  degree  of  power  developed 
by  it. 

Thirdly,  a  heinous  and  terrible  crime  diverts  our  at- 
tention from  its  quality,  and  directs  it  to  its  fearful  re- 
sult.   The  stronger  mental  emotion  suppresses  then 


THE    COMMON   AND    LOW.  273 

the  weaker.  We  do  not  look  back  into  the  soul  of  the 
criminal,  but  forward  to  his  fate,  and  to  the  effects  of 
his  act.  As  soon  as  we  begin  to  tremble,  all  delicacy 
of  taste  is  hushed.  The  main  impression  entirely  oc- 
cupies our  soul,  and  abolishes  the  accessory  ideas,  to 
which  the  low  particularly  belongs.  Hence  the  theft 
of  young  Ruhberg,  in  the  Crime  of  Ambition,  is  not 
repulsive  upon  the  stage,  but  truly  tragical.  The  au- 
thor has  managed  the  circumstances  so  dexterously, 
that  we  are  hurried  along  without  a  breathing  space. 
The  fearful  misery  of  his  family,  and  particularly  the 
sorrow  of  his  father,  are  objects  which  draw  our  whole 
attention  from  the  criminal  to  the  results  of  his  deed. 
We  are  far  too  much  affected,  to  admit  the  representa- 
tion of  the  infamy  with  which  the  theft  is  branded.  In 
short  —  the  low  is  concealed  by  the  fearful.  It  is 
curious,  that  this  theft  of  young  Ruhberg,  actually  per- 
petrated, is  not  so  repulsive,  as  the  mere  groundless 
suspicion  of  a  theft  in  another  play,  where  a  young  offi- 
cer is  undeservedly  accused  of  having  stolen  a  silver 
spoon,  which  is  afterwards  found.  Here  then  the  low 
is  only  imagined,  a  mere  suspicion,  and  yet  it  does  an 
irretrievable  injury,  in  our  aesthetic  representation,  to 
the  innocent  hero  of  the  piece.  The  reason  is,  be- 
cause the  supposition  that  a  man  could  act  in  a  low 
way,  evinces  no  very  stable  opinion  of  his  morals,  as 
conventional  laws  require  that  one  should  be  consider- 
ed an  honest  man  so  long  as  he  does  not  manifest  the 
contrary.  If  then  we  couple  anything  contemptible 
with  him,  it  seems  as  if  he  had  sometime  or  other  given 
18 


274 


THE    COMMON    AND  LOW. 


a  pretext  for  the  possibility  of  such  suspicion  ;  although 
what  is  low  in  an  unmerited  suspicion  pertains  pro- 
perly to  the  accuser.  In  the  play  alluded  to,  the  injury 
done  to  the  hero  is  increased,  since  he  is  an  officer, 
and  in  love  with  a  lady  of  rank  and  culture.  With 
both  these  predicates,  the  predicate  of  theft  makes  a 
woful  contrast,  and  it  is  impossible,  if  he  is  with  his 
fair  lady,  not  to  recollect  for  a  moment  that  he  might 
have  the  silver  spoon  in  his  pocket.  The  greatest  mis- 
fortune is  that  he  never  guesses  the  suspicion  resting 
upon  him  ;  for  were  this  the  case,  he  would,  as  an  offi- 
cer, demand  a  bloody  satisfaction.  Then  the  results 
would  pass  over  into  the  fearful,  and  the  low  would 
disappear. 

Still  we  must  accurately  distinguish  the  low  in  dis- 
position from  the  low  in  action.  The  first  is  beneath 
aesthetic  dignity,  the  last  may  often  very  well  agree 
with  it.  Slavery  is  low,  but  a  slavish  disposition  in 
freedom  is  contemptible  ;  on  the  contrary,  a  slavish  oc- 
cupation without  such  a  disposition  is  not  so;  rather 
may  lowness  of  condition,  united  with  grandeur  of  dis- 
position, pass  into  Sublimity.  The  master  of  Epicte- 
tus,  who  chastised  him,  acted  in  a  low  way,  and  the 
beaten  slave  evinced  an  elevated  soul.  True  greatness 
beams  from  a  lowly  lot  all  the  more  nobly,  and  the 
artist  need  not  fear  to  represent  his  hero  with  a  mean 
outside,  if  he  is  only  assured,  that  the  expression  of  in- 
ternal worth  is  at  his  bidding. 

But  that  which  may  be  permitted  to  the  poet,  is  not 
always  allowable  for  the  painter.    The  former  brings 


THE    COMMON    AND  LOW. 


275 


his  object  only  before  the  fancy,  the  latter,  on  the  other 
hand,  immediately  before  the  senses.  Thus  the  im- 
pression of  a  painting  is  not  only  more  lively  than  that 
of  a  poem,  but  the  painter  also  cannot  make  the  in- 
ternal so  apparent  by  his  natural  signs,  as  the  poet  can 
by  his  arbitrary  signs,  and  yet  the  internal  alone  can 
reconcile  us  with  its  external  development.  If  Homer 
represents  his  Ulysses  in  beggar's  rags,  it  depends  upon 
us  how  far  we  carry  out  this  image,  and  how  long  we 
dwell  upon  it.  But  in  no  case  has  it  sufficient  liveli- 
ness of  coloring,  to  become  unpleasant  or  disgusting  to 
us.  But  if  the  painter  or  even  the  dramatist  should 
imitate  faithfully  Homer's  Ulysses,  we  should  turn  from 
it  with  repugnance.  In  this  case  we  do  not  have  the 
force  of  the  impression  in  our  own  power ;  we  must 
see  what  the  painter  shows  us,  and  we  cannot  so  easily 
ignore  the  disagreeable  accessory  ideas,  which  are 
thus  brought  to  our  remembrance, 


DISCONNECTED 


OBSERVATIONS 


UPON  VARIOUS 


ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


VARIOUS  ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


All  qualities  of  things,  which  make  them  aesthetic, 
are  comprehended  under  four  classes,  which,  according 
to  their  objective  difference,  as  well  as  according  to 
their  different  subjective  relation,  produce  for  our  pas- 
sivity or  activity,  a  satisfaction  different  not  only  in 
strength,  but  also  in  value,  and  are  also  unequally 
adapted  for  the  purpose  of  the  fine' arts.  These  classes 
are,  the  Agreeable,  the  Good,  the  Sublime  and  the 
Beautiful.  Of  these  the  sublime  and  beautiful  alone 
are  proper  for  art.  The  agreeable  is  not  worthy  of  it, 
and  the  good  is  at  least  not  its  design ;  for  the  design 
of  art  is  to  please,  and  the  good,  whether  theoretical  or 
practical,  can  and  need  not  be  subservient  to  sensuous- 
ness. 

The  agreeable  satisfies  only  the  senses,  and  is  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  good,  which  pleases  the  pure 
reason.  It  pleases  by  its  content,  for  the  sense  can 
only  be  affected  by  matter,  and  all  that  is  form,  can  only 
please  the  reason. 


280 


VARIOUS   ^ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


It  is  true,  the  beautiful  pleases  through  the  medium 
of  the  senses,  in  which  it  differs  from  the  good,  but  it 
pleases  the  reason  by  its  form,  in  which  it  differs  from 
the  agreeable.  The  good,  we  may  say,  pleases  by  a 
pure  form  that  is  according  to  reason,  the  beautiful  by 
a  form  that  is  similar  to  reason,  the  agreeable  by  no 
form  at  all.  The  good  is  thought,  the  beautiful  re- 
garded, the  agreeable  only  felt.  The  first  pleases  in 
idea,  the  second  in  contemplation,  the  third  in  ma- 
terial perception. 

We  are  particularly  struck  by  the  difference  between 
the  good  and  the  agreeable.  The  good  enlarges  our 
cognition,  since  it  creates  and  supposes  a  conception 
of  its  object ;  the  ground  of  our  satisfaction  lies  in  the 
object,  although  the  satisfaction  is  itself  a  condition,  in 
which  we  find  ourselves.  On  the  contrary,  the  agree- 
able produces  no  cognition  of  its  object,  and  is  founded 
upon  none.  It  is  only  agreeable  because  it  is  perceiv- 
ed, and  its  conception  entirely  vanishes,  as  soon  as  we 
lose  by  reflection  the  susceptibility  of  the  senses,  or 
only  divert  it  to  another  object.  A  warm  breeze  is 
agreeable  to  a  man,  who  feels  the  cold  ;  but  the  same 
man  will  seek  a  cooling  shade  in  the  heat  of  summer. 
But  we  allow  that  he  has  rightly  judged  in  both  cases. 
The  objective  is  completely  independent  of  us,  and 
what  to-day  appears  to  us  true,  proper  and  rational, 
will  (supposing  that  we  have  judged  rightly  to-day) 
appear  the  same  after  twenty  years.  Our  judgment 
concerning  the  agreeable  varies,  according  as  our  po- 
sition alters  with  reference  to  its  object.    It  is  then,  no 


VARIOUS  .ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


281 


property  of  the  object,  but  first  results  from  the  rela- 
tion of  an  object  to  our  senses,  —  for  its  necessary 
condition  is  the  nature  of  our  sense. 

The  good,  on  the  contrary,  is  already  good  before  it 
is  represented  and  perceived.  The  property  by  which 
it  pleases,  exists  completely  for  itself,  without  any  ne- 
cessity for  our  subject,  although  our  satisfaction  at  it 
rests  upon  a  susceptibility  of  our  being.  The  agreeable, 
we  may  say,  is  only,  because  it  is  perceived ;  the  good, 
on  the  contrary,  is  perceived,  because  it  is. 

We  are  less  struck  by  the  difference  between  the 
beautiful  and  the  agreeable,  however  great  it  may  be. 
The  former  resembles  the  agreeable  in  this,  that  it 
must  always  be  presented  to  the  senses,  that  it  pleases 
only  empirically.  It  further  resembles  it  in  neither 
creating  nor  supposing  any  cognition  drawn  from  its 
object.  But  again,  it  is  very  distinct  from  the  agreea- 
ble, since  it  pleases  by  the  form  of  its  actual  mode, 
not  by  the  material  perception.  It  is  true,  it  pleases 
the  rational  Subject,  only  so  far  as  that  is  at  the  same 
time  sensuous ;  but  it  also  only  pleases  the  sensuous, 
so  far  as  that  is  at  the  same  time  rational.  It  not  only 
pleases  the  individual  but  the  genus,  and  although  it 
maintains  an  existence  only  by  its  relation  to  sensuo- 
rational  nature,  it  is  still  independent  of  all  empirical 
determinations  of  sensuousness,  and  remains  the  same, 
even  if  the  private  constitution  of  the  Subject  has  al- 
tered. Then  the  beautiful  has  in  common  with  the 
good,  that  in  which  it  differs  from  the  agreeable,  and 
departs  from  the  good,  just  where  it  approaches  the 
agreeable. 


282 


VARIOUS  ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


Under  the  good  is  to  be  comprehended  that,  in 
which  the  reason  recognizes  a  conformity  to  its  laws, 
whether  theoretical  or  practical.  But  the  same  object 
may  fully  harmonize  with  the  theoretical  reason,  and 
yet  be  entirely  repugnant  to  the  practical.  We  may 
dislike  the  purpose  of  an  undertaking,  and  yet  admire 
its  aptness  for  that  purpose.  We  may  despise  the  en- 
joyments which  the  voluptuary  makes  the  aim  of  life, 
and  yet  praise  the  strict  consequences  of  his  principles 
and  his  wisdom  in  the  choice  of  means.  What  pleases 
us  only  by  its  form,  is  good,  and  it  is  absolutely  and 
unconditionally  good,  if  its  form  is  at  the  same  time  its 
content.  The  good  is  also  an  object  of  perception, 
but  of  no  direct  perception,  like  the  agreeable,  and  of 
no  mixed  perception,  like  the  beautiful.  It  does  not 
stimulate  desire  like  the  former,  or  inclination  like  the 
latter.  The  pure  representation  of  the  good  can  only 
inspire  regard. 

It  is  obvious  from  the  fixed  distinction  between  the 
agreeable,  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  that  an  object 
may  be  ugly,  imperfect,  and  even  morally  exception- 
able, and  still  be  agreeable  —  still  please  the  senses ; 
that  an  object  can  be  revolting  to  the  sense,  and  yet  be 
good  —  yet  please  the  reason  ;  that  an  object  may  be 
revolting,  in  its  internal  quality,  to  the  moral  feeling, 
and  still  please  in  contemplation  —  still  be  beautiful. 
The  reason  is,  that  in  all  these  various  exhibitions  an- 
other faculty  of  the  mind  is  interested,  and  in  a  differ- 
ent manner. 

But  the  classification  of  aesthetic  predicates  is  not 


VARIOUS  ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


283 


exhausted  with  the  above,  for  there  are  objects,  which 
are  at  the  same  time  ugly,  repugnant  and  dreadful  to 
the  sense,  dissatisfactory  to  the  intellect,  and  indiffer- 
ent in  a  moral  estimation,  and  which  still  please  — 
nay,  please  to  such  a  high  degree,  that  we  readily  sac- 
rifice the  gratification  of  sense  and  of  reason,  in  order 
to  procure  its  enjoyment. 

Nothing  in  nature  is  more  enchanting  than  a  beauti- 
ful landscape  in  the  red  of  evening.  The  rich  mani- 
foldness  and  mild  outline  of  shapes,  the  infinitely  vary- 
ing play  of  light,  the  delicate  veil  which  envelops  dis- 
tant objects,  —  all  combine,  to  charm  our  senses.  Per- 
haps the  soft  murmur  of  a  waterfall,  the  melody  of 
nightingales,  and  pleasant  music  are  added  to  increase 
our  pleasure.  We  are  dissolved  in  sweet  perception  of 
tranquillity,  and  while  our  senses  are  affected  most 
agreeably  by  the  harmony  of  colors,  shapes  and  tones, 
the  mind  revels  in  an  easy  and  spirited  flow  of  ideas, 
and  the  heart"  in  the  current  of  its  feelings. 

Suddenly  a  storm  arises,  which  darkens  the  sky  and  the 
whole  landscape,  which  surpasses  and  drowns  all  other 
sounds,  and  suddenly  deprives  us  of  all  our  pleasures. 
Clouds,  black  as  pitch,  encircle  the  horizon,  deafening 
thunder-claps  descend,  flash  follows  flash,  and  our  sight 
as  well  as  hearing  is  most  disagreeably  affected.  The 
lightning  only  shines  to  render  the  frightful  night  more 
apparent;  we  see  it  as  it  strikes — nay,  we  begin  to 
tremble  lest  it  may  strike  us  also.  Yet  not  the  less  do 
we  believe,  that  we  have  rather  gained  than  lost  by  the 
change,  those  persons  excepted,  whom  fear  deprives  of 


284 


VARIOUS   ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


all  freedom  of  judgment.  We  are  powerfully  attracted 
in  one  direction  by  this  fearful  spectacle,  which  repels 
our  senses,  and  linger  in  it  with  a  feeling,  which  in- 
deed we  cannot  properly  call  pleasure,  but  which  is 
often  far  superior  to  pleasure.  But  now  this  spectacle 
of  nature  is  rather  destructive  than  good  (at  least  we 
are  not  obliged  to  regard  the  utility  of  a  tempest,  in  or- 
der to  find  pleasure  in  such  a  phenomenon),  it  is  ugly 
rather  than  beautiful,  for  darkness,  as  a  deprivation  of 
all  the  appearances  which  light  creates,  can  never  be 
pleasing  ;  and  the  sudden  shattering  of  the  air  by  the 
thunder,  and  its  sudden  illumination  by  the  lightning, 
contradict  a  necessary  condition  of  all  Beauty,  which 
admits  nothing  abrupt,  nothing  violent.  Further,  this 
phenomenon  is  rather  painful  than  agreeable  to  mere 
sense,  since  the  nerves  of  sight  and  of  hearing  are 
painfully  strained,  and  then  just  as  violently  relaxed, 
by  the  sudden  alternations  of  darkness  and  light  —  from 
the  roar  of  the  thunder  to  silence.  And  notwithstand- 
ing all  these  causes  of  displeasure,  a  tempest  is  an  at- 
tractive appearance  for  one  who  does  not  fear  it. 

Still  further.  In  the  midst  of  a  green  and  smiling 
plain,  a  rude  and  naked  hillock  is  prominent,  which 
shuts  out  from  the  eye  a  part  of  the  prospect.  Every 
one  will  wish  this  excrescence  removed,  as  something 
which  disfigures  the  beauty  of  the  whole  landscape. 
Now  let  one  imagine  this  hillock  to  become  higher  and 
higher,  without  in  the  least  altering  its  form  in  other 
respects,  so  that  the  same  relation  is  preserved  between 
its  breadth  and  height.    At  first  our  dissatisfaction  at 


VARIOUS  ./ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


285 


it  will  increase,  since  its  increasing  bulk  only  makes  it 
more  obtrusive,  more  troublesome.    But  proceed  to 
magnify  it  to  double  the  height  of  a  tower,  and  our  dis- 
satisfaction at  it  insensibly  disappears,  and  gives  place 
to  a  feeling  entirely  different.    Finally  when  it  has 
risen  so  high,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  for  the  eye  to 
embrace  it  in  a  single  image,  it  is  more  esteemed  by  us 
than  all  the  beautiful  plain  around  it,  and  we  should 
unwillingly  exchange  the  impression  which  it  produces, 
for  another  however  fair.    Now  let  one  give  in  idea 
such  an  inclination  to  this  mountain,  that  it  appears 
every  moment  as  if  it  would  fall  over,  then  our  previous 
feeling  is  mingled  with  that  of  terror,  but  the  object 
itself  will  be  all  the  more  attractive.    But  suppose, 
that  we  could  prop  up  this  inclined  mountain  by  an- 
other, then  the  terror,  and  with  it  a  great  part  of  our 
pleasure,  would  be  lost.    Suppose  further,  that  we 
placed  near  this  mountain  four  or  five  others,  each  of 
which  should  be  a  fourth  or  fifth  part  lower  than  its 
neighbor,  then  the  first  feeling  which  was  inspired  by 
its  magnitude,  w^ould  be  evidently  diminished  ;  some- 
thing similar  would  occur,  if  we  should  divide  the  moun- 
tain itself  into  ten  or  twelve  equal  fragments,  or  if  we 
adorned  it  by  ingenious  additions.    In  the  first  instance, 
our  only  process  was,  to  increase  the  mountain,  exactly  as 
it  was,  without  altering  its  form  —  and  by  this  single 
circumstance  it  was  changed  from  an  indifferent,  even 
a  repulsive,  object,  to  one  of  pleasure.    In  our  second 
process,  we  changed  this  great  object  at  the  same  time 
into  an  object  of  terror,  and  thereby  increased  our 


286 


VARIOUS  ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


pleasure  at  its  aspect.  In  the  last  process  undertaken, 
we  diminished  the  terrific  quality  of  its  appearance, 
and  thereby  weakened  the  pleasure.  We  have  lessen- 
ed subjectively  the  representation  of  its  greatness,  partly 
by  dividing  the  attention  of  the  eye,  partly  by  creating 
for  it  a  measure  of  comparison  in  the  smaller  moun- 
tains placed  near  by,  whereby  it  could  more  easily 
command  the  greatness  of  the  largest.  Then  greatness 
and  fear fulness  can  in  certain  cases  suffice,  in  them- 
selves alone,  as  a  source  of  pleasure. 

There  is  no  image  in  the  Grecian  Mythology  more 
fearful  and  at  the  same  time  more  revolting  than  the 
Furies  or  Erinnyes,  when  they  ascend  from  Orcus  to 
punish  a  criminal.  A  ghastly,  withered  visage,  hag- 
gard figures,  heads  wreathed  with  serpents  instead  of 
hair,  disgust  our  senses  as  much  as  they  offend  our 
taste.  But  when  these  monsters  are  represented  as 
they  haunt  Orestes  the  matricide,  shaking  torches  in 
their  hands,  and  hunting  him  restlessly  from  place  to 
place,  till  finally,  when  indignant  justice  is  appeased, 
vanishing  in  the  abyss  of  hell,  we  linger  amid  this  rep- 
resentation with  an  agreeable  horror.  But  it  is  not 
only  the  remorse  of  a  criminal,  which  is  personified  by 
the  Furies,  that  can  please  us  when  represented,  but 
his  unlawful  deeds  themselves,  his  real  actus.  Cly- 
temnestra,  the  Medea  of  the  Greek  tragedy,  who  mur- 
dered her  husband  —  Orestes,  who  killed  his  mother, 
fill  our  mind  with  a  shuddering  delight.  Even  in  com- 
mon life,  we  discover  that  indifferent,  and  even  re- 


VARIOUS  ^ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


287 


volting  and  horrible  objects,  begin  to  interest  us,  as 
soon  as  they  approach  either  the  monstrous  or  the  ter- 
rible. A  very  common  and  insignificant  man  begins 
to  please  us,  when  a  violent  passion,  which  does  not  in 
the  least  elevate  him  in  our  estimation,  converts  him 
into  an  object  of  fear  and  terror ;  just  as  a  common 
and  paltry  object  is  a  source  of  pleasure  to  us,  as  soon 
as  we  magnify  it  till  it  threatens  to  transgress  our 
powers  of  comprehension.  A  disagreeable  man  be- 
comes still  more  disagreeable  through  anger,  and  yet 
he  may  have  the  greatest  attraction  for  us  during  an 
outbreak  of  that  passion,  when  it  does  not  run  into  the 
ridiculous  but  into  the  fearful.  This  remark  is  appli- 
cable even  in  the  case  of  animals.  A  bull  in  the 
plough,  a  horse  in  the  cart,  a  dog,  are  common  objects ; 
but  if  we  goad  the  bull  into  fight,  throw  the  peaceful 
horse  into  a  rage,  or  if  we  see  a  mad  dog,  we  elevate 
these  animals  into  aesthetic  objects,  and  begin  to  regard 
them  with  a  feeling  which  partakes  of  satisfaction  and 
regard*  The  universal  bias  of  all  men  towards  emo- 
tion, the  power  of  sympathetic  feeling,  which  impels  us 
in  nature  to  the  spectacle  of  sorrow,  fear  and  horror, 
which  attracts  us  in  art  so  strongly,  which  charms  us 
in  the  theatre,  and  exercises  our  taste  so  extensively  in 
the  delineations  of  great  misfortunes,  —  all  this  is  in- 
dicative of  a  fourth  source  of  pleasure,  which  neither 
the  Agreeable,  the  Good  nor  the  Beautiful  are  compe- 
tent to  create. 

All  the  examples  hitherto  adduced  have  in  common 
something  objective  in  the  perception  they  excite  in 


288 


VARIOUS  ESTHETIC  SUBJECTS, 


us.  We  perceive  in  all  an  exhibition  of  something, 
"  which  either  transgresses,  or  threatens  to  do  so,  our 
sensuous  comprehension  or  our  sensuous  resistance," 
yet  without  pushing  this  superiority  so  far  as  to  oppress 
both  those  powers,  or  to  diminish  our  exertions  for  cog- 
nition or  for  resistance.  On  the  one  hand  a  manifold- 
ness  is  bestowed  upon  us,  to  comprehend  which  in  a 
unity,  forces  our  intuitive  faculty  to  its  limits.  On 
the  other,  a  power  is  exhibited,?against  which  our  own 
disappears,  but  which  we  are  still  compelled  to  ac- 
commodate to  the  latter.  It  is  either  an  object,  which 
at  the  same  time  offers  itself  to,  and  withdraios  itself 
from,  our  intuitive  faculty,  and  rouses  the  effort  for 
representation  without  letting  it  hope  for  satisfaction  ; 
or  it  is  an  object,  which  seems  to  take  a  hostile  attitude 
against  our  being  itself,  challenges  us,  as  it  were,  to 
conflict,  and  excites  solicitude  for  the  result.  The 
same  operation  upon  the  perceptive  faculty  is  also  evi- 
dent in  all  the  cases  adduced.  All  throw  the  mind  into 
a  state  of  restless  emotion  and  intensity.  A  'certain 
gravity,  which  may  amount  to  solemnity,  occupies  our 
souls,  and  while  evident  traces  of  anxiety  are  manifest 
in  the  sensuous  organs,  the  reflecting  spirit  sinks  back 
into  itself,  and  seems  to  rely  upon  an  elevated  con- 
sciousness of  its  independent  power  and  dignity.  This 
consciousness  must  actually  predominate,  if  the  great 
or  the  terrible  would  have  for  us  an  aesthetic  value. 
Since  the  mind  is  inspired  by  such  exhibitions,  and 
feels  itself  raised  above  itself,  we  distinguish  them  by 
the  epithet  Sublime,  although  nothing  sublime  per- 


VARIOUS  AESTHETIC  SUBJECTS. 


289 


tains  objectively  to  the  objects  themselves,  on  which 
account  it  would  be  more  appropriate  to  style  them 
elevating, 

An  object,  to  be  called  sublime,  must  be  opposed  to 
our  sensuous  faculties.  Two  different  relations  may 
be  imagined  in  which  things  can  stand  to  our  sensuous- 
ness,  and  corresponding  to  these  there  must  also  be  two 
different  modes  of  opposition.  They  are  either  re- 
garded as  objects,  from  which  we  would  create  a  cog- 
nition, or  as  a  force,  with  which  we  measure  our  own. 
According  to  this  distribution  there  are  also  two  spe- 
cies of  the  sublime,  the  sublime  of  cognition  and  the 
sublime  of  power. 

But  the  sensuous  faculties  contribute  nothing  further 
towards  cognition,  except  as  they  comprehend  the  given 
substance,  and  arrange  together  its  manifoldness  in 
time  and  space.  To  distinguish  and  assort  this  mani- 
foidness  is  the  business  of  the  intellect,  not  of  the 
imagination.  Diversity  is  only  for  the  intellect  — 
homogeneousness  only  for  the  imagination  (as  sense), 
and  then  it  is  only  the  mass  of  the  homogeneous  (the 
quantity  not  the  quality)  that  can  make  a  distinction  in 
the  sensuous  appropriation  of  phenomena.  Should 
then  the  sensuous  representative  faculty  succumb  to  an 
object,  this  object  must  exceed  the  imagination  through 
its  quantity.  Therefore  the  sublime  of  cognition  de- 
pends upon  number  or  bulk,  and  for  this  reason  it  can 
also  be  called  the  mathematical  sublime. 


19 


290 


ESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


^ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 

I  can  make  four,  entirely  different,  representations 
of  the  quantity  of  an  object. 

The  tower,  which  I  see  before  me,  is  a  great  object. 
It  is  four  hundred  feet  high. 
It  is  high. 

It  is  a  lofty  (sublime)  object. 

It  is  evident,  that  something  entirely  distinct  is  de- 
clared by  each  of  these  four  predicates,  which  still 
collectively  relate  to  the  quantity  of  the  tower.  In  the 
two  first,  the  tower  is  regarded  only  as  a  Quantum  (a 
greatness),  in  the  two  remaining,  as  a  Magnum  (as 
something  great). 

Everything  made  up  of  parts  is  a  Quantum.  Each 
intuition,  each  intellectual  conception  has  a  magnitude, 
as  certainly  as  the  latter  has  a  sphere  and  the  former  a 
content.  Then  quantity  cannot  generally  be  meant, 
if,  in  speaking  of  objects  we  regard  a  difference  of 
magnitude.  The  reference  here  is  to  such  a  quantity, 
as  especially  pertains  to  an  object — that  is,  one  that 
is  not  only  a  Quantum,  but  at  the  same  time  a  Mag- 
num. 

In  every  magnitude  we  suppose  an  unity,  to  which 
many  homogeneous  parts  are  allied.  If  then  a  distinc- 
tion would  obtain  between  magnitude  and  magnitude, 
it  can  only  consist  in  this,  that  in  the  one  more  parts, 
in  the  other  less  parts  are  united  to  an  unity,  or  that 


ESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


291 


the  one  composes  only  one  part  in  the  other.  That 
Quantum,  which  contains  in  itself  another  Quantum 
as  part,  is  a  Magnum  in  comparison  with  this  Quan- 
tum. 

To  examine  how  often  a  definite  Quantum  is  con- 
tained in  another,  is  called  measuring  this  Quantum 
(if  it  is  continuous —  stetig,)  or  counting  it  (if  it  is  not 
continuous.)  It  always  depends  then  upon  the  unity 
which  is  taken  as  a  measure  of  comparison,  whether 
we  regard  an  object  as  a  Magnum :  that  is  to  say,  all 
conception  of  magnitude  is  relative. 

Considered  with  reference  to  its  measure,  every  mag. 
nitude  is  a  Magnum,  and  still  more  so  with  reference 
to  the  measure  of  its  measure,  compared  with  which 
the  latter  is  itself  a  Magnum.  But  as  it  descends,  it 
also  ascends.  Every  Magnum  is  small,  as  soon  as  we 
propose  to  contain  it  in  another ;  and  what  limit  is 
there  to  this,  since  we  can  multiply  again  with  itself 
every  amount,  however  great? 

Then  in  the  process  of  measurement  we  can  hit  upon 
the  comparative,  to  be  sure,  but  never  upon  the  abso- 
lute magnitude,  namely,  upon  that  which  can  be  con- 
tained in  no  other  Quantum,  but  which  embraces  in 
itself  all  other  magnitudes.  Certainly  nothing  would 
hinder  the  same  intellectual  operation,  which  renders 
to  us  such  a  magnitude,  from  also  giving  it  to  us  in 
duplo,  since  the  intellect  proceeds  successively,  and, 
guided  by  conceptions  of  number,  can  push  forward  its 
synthesis  to  infinity.  So  long  as  it  continues  to  define 
how  great  an  object  is,  the  object  is  not  yet  (absolutely) 


292  ^ESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 

great,  and  may  by  the  same  method  of  comparison  be 
degraded  to  a  very  small  one.  According  to  this, 
there  could  be  in  nature  only  a  single  magnitude  per 
excellentiam,  namely,  the  infinite  entirety  of  nature 
itself,  but  to  which  no  intuition  can  correspond,  and 
whose  synthesis  can  never  be  completed  in  time.  As 
the  empire  of  numbers  is  inexhaustible,  the  intellect 
must  be  that  which  terminates  its  synthesis  ;  and  it 
must  everywhere  set  up  a  unity  as  the  extreme  and 
highest  measure,  and  declare  to  be  absolutely  great, 
whatever  exceeds  it. 

This  actually  takes  place,  if  I  say  of  the  tower 
which  I  see  before  me,  it  is  high,  without  defining  its 
height.  I  here  give  no  measure  of  comparison,  and 
yet  I  cannot  ascribe  absolute  greatness  to  the  tower,  as 
nothing  hinders  me  from  assuming  it  to  be  still  greater. 
Then  at  the  mere  aspect  of  the  tower  an  extreme 
measure  must  already  be  given  to  me,  and  I  must  be 
able  to  conceive  by  my  expression,  this  tower  is  high, 
that  I  have  also  prescribed  this  maximum  measure  to 
every  other.  This  measure,  then,  already  lies  in  the 
conception  of  a  tower,  and  it  is  nothing  else  than  the 
conception  of  its  generic  magnitude. 

There  is  a  certain  maximum  of  magnitude  to  every- 
thing, either  in  its  genus  (if  it  is  a  work  of  nature),  or 
(if  it  is  a  work  of  freedom)  in  its  design  and  in  the 
limits  which  ultimate  causes  prescribe  to  it.  We  ap- 
ply this  measure  of  magnitude,  with  more  or  less  con- 
sciousness, in  every  apperception  of  objects  ;  but  our 
perceptions  are  very  different,  according  as  the  meas- 


ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


293 


ure,  which  we  consider  ultimate,  is  more  or  less  con- 
tingent or  necessary.  If  an  object  surpasses  the  con- 
ception of  its  generic  magnitude,  it  induces  astonish- 
ment to  a  certain  degree.  We  are  surprised,  and  our 
experience  is  enlarged,  but  so  far  as  we  take  no  in- 
terest in  the  object  itself,  the  only  result  is  this  feeling 
of  surpassed  expectation.  We  deduced  that  measure 
only  from  a  series  of  experiences,  and  there  is  no  ne- 
cessity that  it  should  always  be  adequate.  If  on  the 
contrary,  a  production  of  freedom  surpasses  the  con- 
ception, which  we  formed  from  the  limitations  of  its 
causes,  we  shall  already  experience  a  certain  admira- 
tion. Here  it  is  not  only  surpassed  expectation  which 
surprises  us  in  such  an  experience,  it  is  at  the  same  time 
a  divestiture  of  limits.  In  the  former  case  our  atten- 
tion was  only  confined  to  the  product,  which  in  itself 
was  indifferent ;  in  the  latter,  we  are  attracted  by  the 
productive  power,  which  has  a  moral  relation,  or  rather, 
a  relation  to  a  moral  being,  and  must  then  necessarily 
interest  us.  This  interest  will  increase  in  the  same 
degree,  as  the  power  which  constitutes  the  active  prin- 
ciple, is  nobler  and  more  important,  and  as  the  limit 
which  we  find  surpassed  is  more  difficult  to  overcome. 
A  horse  of  unusual  magnitude  will  agreeably  surprise 
us,  but  still  more  so  the  strong  and  dexterous  rider, 
who  manages  him.  Now  if  we  see  him  leap  with  this 
horse  over  a  wide  and  deep  ditch,  we  are  astonished ; 
and  if  there  are  hostile  ranks  into  which  we  see  him 
spring,  respect  is  united  with  this  astonishment,  and  it 
passes  over  into  admiration.    In  the  latter  case  we 


294  .ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


consider  his  action  as  a  dynamical  magnitude,  and  ap- 
ply our  conception  of  human  bravery  as  an  unit  of 
measure,  where  it  depends  upon  our  own  feeling,  and 
upon  what  we  regard  as  the  extreme  limit  of  valor. 

On  the  contrary,  the  case  is  entirely  different,  when 
the  conception  of  magnitude  in  a  design  is  surpassed. 
Here  our  ultimate  measure  is  not  empirical  and  con- 
tingent, but  rational  and  thus  necessary,  and  it  cannot 
be  transgressed  without  annulling  the  design  of  the 
object.  The  magnitude  of  a  dwelling-house  is  orly  de- 
termined by  its  design  ;  the  magnitude  of  a  tower  can 
only  be  determined  by  the  limits  of  architecture. 
Hence  if  I  find  the  dwelling  house  too  large  for  its 
purpose,  it  must  necessarily  displease  me.  On  the 
contrary,  if  I  find  the  tower  exceeding  my  idea  of  its 
generic  height,  it  will  only  please  me  the  more.  And 
why  ?  The  former  is  a  contradiction,  the  latter  only 
an  unexpected  coincidence  with  that  which  I  seek.  I 
may  be  very  properly  pleased  when  a  limit  is  extended, 
but  not  when  an  intention  is  frustrated. 

If  I  only  say  of  an  object  that  it  is  great,  without 
stating  how  great  it  is,  I  do  not  thereby  affirm  it  as 
something  absolutely  great,  for  which  no  scale  is  suffi- 
cient ;  I  only  conceal  the  scale  to  which  I  subject  it, 
in  the  supposition  that  it  is  already  contained  in  its 
simple  conception.  It  is  true,  I  do  not  entirely  define 
its  magnitude,  in  comparison  with  all  supposable  things, 
but  still  partly,  and  with  reference  to  a  certain  class  of 
things,  —  then  always  objectively  and  logically,  be- 
cause I  declare  a  proportion,  and  proceed  according  to 
a  conception. 


AESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE.  295 


But  this  may  be  an  empirical,  consequently  a  con- 
tingent conception,  and  in  this  case  my  judgment  will 
only  have  subjective  validity.  Perhaps  I  mistake  for 
generic  magnitude,  what  is  only  the  magnitude  of  cer- 
tain species  —  perhaps  I  distinguish  as  an  objective 
limit,  what  is  only  the  limit  of  my  Subject  —  perhaps 
my  private  conception  of  the  use  and  design  of  a  thing 
underlies  my  examination.  Then,  according  to  the 
matter,  my  estimation  of  magnitude  can  be  entirely 
subjective,  although,  according  to  the  Form,  it  is  ob- 
jective—  that  is,  an  actual  definition  of  proportion. 
The  European  regards  the  Patagonian  as  a  giant,  and 
his  judgment  has  full  validity  with  that  nation,  from 
which  he  has  borrowed  his  conception  of  human  mag- 
nitude ;  in  Patagonia,  on  the  contrary,  he  would  meet 
with  contradiction.  Nowhere  do  we  better  descry  the 
influence  of  subjective  causes  upon  human  judgment, 
than  in  our  estimation  of  magnitude,  as  well  in  ma- 
terial as  in  immaterial  things.  Every  man,  we  may 
affirm,  has  a  certain  scale  of  power  and  virtue  within 
himself,  to  which  he  conforms  in  his  estimation  of  the 
magnitude  of  moral  actions.  The  miser  will  consider 
the  gift  of  a  florin  as  a  very  great  exertion  of  his  liber- 
ality, while  the  generous  man  will  not  be  satisfied  in 
giving  thrice  the  sum.  A  man  of  common  stamp  re- 
gards non-deception  as  a  very  great  proof  of  his  hon- 
esty ;  another  man  of  delicate  feelings  frequently  hesi- 
tates to  appropriate  a  lawful  gain.1 

1  (Tr.)  —  Then,  making  the  lowest  statement  possible,  we  need  an 
ethical  maximum,  of  which  we  may  have  intuition,  —  an  absolute 


296  /ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


Although  in  all  these  cases  the  scale  is  subjective, 
yet  the  measurement  itself  is  always  objective  ;  for  we 
need  only  make  the  scale  universal,  and  the  definition  of 

magnitude,  which  humanity  cannot  surpass,  since  it  represents  the 
limit  of  humanity  :  and  this,  in  order  that  we  may  satisfy  the  de- 
mands of  virtue,  and  fulfil  the  limits  of  our  humanity.  Without  such 
an  ethical  maximum,  all  our  virtue  would  be  contingent,  because  our 
unit  of  virtue  would  be  so  :  consequently  society  would  never  emerge 
from  its  state  of  nature.  Then  "  a  providential  man  "  is  needed,  if 
on  no  other  grounds  than  that  we  must  do  the  right.  To  this  Kantian 
principle  add  another,  that  "  not  he  who  does  right,  but  he  who  loves 
it,  is  the  righteous  man,"  and  we  have  the  conception  of  Christianity ; 
since  the  power  to  do  the  right  is  already  involved  in  the  presentation 
of  the  ethical  maximum,  which  convicts,  enlightens  and  inspires. 
The  following  passage  from  Kant's  "  Religion  within  the  bounds  of 
Pure  Reason,"  will  not  be  out  of  place  :  "  The  ideal  of  humanity  as 
acceptable  to  God  (that  is,  the  idea  of  an  ethical  perfection,  so  far 
forth  as  this  last  may  be  possible  for  finite  Agent-Intelligents  shack- 
led by  wants  and  appetites),  ean  only  be  cogitated  by  the  represen- 
tation of  a  Person  ready  and  willing  to  discharge  all  the  offices  of  hu- 
manity, who,  not  only  by  doctrine  and  example,  spreads  abroad  the 
utmost  amount  of  good,  but  does  further,  although  assaulted  by  the 
highest  temptations,  undergo  for  the  sake  of  the  whole  world,  his 
enemies  not  excepted,  the  greatest  miseries,  even  an  ignominious 
death.  Thus  would  the  matter  seem  to  be  figured  :  for  we  can  frame 
to  ourselves  no  notion  of  the  degree  and  momentum  of  a  force,  such 
as  is  the  vis  insita  of  a  moral  sentiment,  except  by  observing  it  war- 
ring against  antagonists,  and  standing,  amidst  the  greatest  possible 
invasions  and  extremities,  unvanquished  and  victorious."  Semple. — 
Thus  the  same  law  obtains  in  the  ethical,  as  in  the  aesthetical  sphere: 
without  possessing  a  maximum  as  our  unit  of  measure,  we  may  mis- 
take for  generic  magnitude  what  is  only  the  magnitude  of  certain  spe- 
cies, and  distinguish  as  an  absolute  limit  what  is  only  the  limit  of 
our  Subject.  Therefore  that  which  is  only  a  deduction  from  the  pure 
reason,  is  neither  absolute  religion  nor  absolute  morality;  both,  like 
their  forms,  become  transient  and  contingent.  This  aesthetic  rule  of 
Schiller  may  thus  enjoy  an  universal  validity. 


ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


297 


magnitude  will  have  an  universal  character.  This  is 
actually  the  case  with  the  objective  scales,  which  are 
in  universal  use,  although  they  all  have  a  subjective 
origin,  and  are  obtained  from  the  human  corporeity. 

But  all  comparative  estimation  of  magnitude,  whether 
ideal  or  corporeal,  whether  it  be  entirely  or  only  partly 
defined,  results  only  in  relative,  and  never  in  absolute 
magnitude  ;  for  if  an  object  actually  surpasses  what  we 
assume  as  the  extreme  and  highest  scale,  still  the 
question  may  continually  recur,  how  often  it  surpasses 
it.  It  is  indeed  something  great  compared  with  its 
genus,  but  yet  not  the  greatest  possible  magnitude ; 
and  if  the  limit  is  once  exceeded,  it  may  be  exceeded 
to  infinity.  But  we  now  seek  the  absolute  magnitude, 
since  that  alone  can  contain  within  itself  the  ground  of 
a  superiority  —  for  all  comparative  magnitudes,  con- 
sidered as  such,  are  equivalent.  Since  nothing  can 
compel  the  intellect  to  become  stationary  in  its  opera- 
tions, limits  must  be  placed  to  it  by  the  imagination ; 
in  other  words,  the  estimation  of  magnitude  must  cease 
to  be  logical, —  it  must  be  aesthetically  conducted. 

If  I  estimate  a  magnitude  logically,  I  always  refer  it 
to  my  cognitive  faculty ;  if  aesthetically,  I  refer  it  to 
my  perceptive  faculty.  On  the  one  hand,  I  experience 
something  from  the  object,  but  on  the  other  hand,  only 
something  in  myself,  induced  by  the  represented  mag- 
nitude of  the  object.  On  the  one  hand,  I  perceive 
something  without  myself,  on  the  other  hand,  some- 
thing within  myself.  Then  I  no  longer  make  a  par- 
ticular estimate  of  magnitude,  but  I  myself  for  the  mo- 


298  ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


ment  become  a  magnitude,  and  truly  an  infinite  one. 
That  object,  which  converts  me  into  an  infinite  mag- 
nitude, is  called  sublime. 

Then  the  sublime  of  magnitude  is  no  objective  qual- 
ity of  the  object  to  which  it  is  ascribed  ;  it  is  only  our 
subjective  action,  incited  by  that  object.  On  the  one 
part,  it  arises  from  the  represented  inability  of  the 
imagination  to  attain  that  totality  in  the  exposition  of 
magnitude,  which  is  insisted  upon  by  the  reason  ;  on 
the  other  part,  from  the  evident  ability  of  the  reason  to 
set  up  such  a  demand.  The  repulsive  power  of  the 
great  and  of  the  sensuo-infinite  is  based  upon  the  first, 
their  attractive  power  upon  the  second. 

But  although  the  sublime  is  an  appearance  which  is 
first  subjectively  created,  still  the  objects  themselves 
must  contain  the  ground  why  exactly  these  and  no 
other  objects  induce  us  to  make  this  application.  And 
since  further,  by  our  judgment  we  assume  in  the  object 
the  predicate  of  the  sublime  (thus  signifying,  that  we 
undertake  this  combination  not  merely  arbitrarily,  but 
intending  thereby  to  establish  a  law  for  every  one), 
we  must  contain  subjectively  a  necessary  ground,  why 
we  make  exactly  this  application  and  no  other,  of  a 
certain  class  of  objects. 

Therefore  there  are  necessary  internal  and  external 
conditions  of  mathematical  sublimity.  A  certain  defi- 
nite relation  between  reason  and  imagination  pertains  to 
the  former,  and  a  definite  relation  of  the  contemplated 
object  to  our  aesthetic  scale  of  magnitude,  to  the  latter. 

Both  the  imagination  and  the  reason  must  develop 


AESTHETIC   ESTIMATION   OF  SIZE. 


299 


themselves  with  a  certain  degree  of  energy,  if  great- 
ness would  affect  us.  The  imagination  desires  to  ap- 
ply its  whole  comprehensive  faculty  to  the  exposition 
of  the  idea  of  the  Absolute,  which  effort  the  reason 
sedulously  presses.  If  the  fancy  is  dull  and  inactive, 
or  if  the  tendency  of  the  mind  is  more  for  conceptions 
than  for  intuitions,  the  most  sublime  object  remains 
only  objectively  logical,  and  is  not  a  subject  for  aes- 
thetic judgment.  This  is  the  reason  why  men  of  pre- 
ponderating powers  of  analysis,  seldom  manifest  much 
susceptibility  for  aesthetic  greatness.  Either  their 
imagination  is  not  sufficiently  lively,  even  to  induce 
them  to  set  forth  the  Absolute  of  the  reason,  or  their 
intellect  is  too  busily  employed,  in  appropriating  the  ob- 
ject to  itself,  and  in  attracting  it  from  the  field  of  in- 
tuition into  its  own  discursive  domain. 

A  great  object  is  not  at  all  aesthetical  without  a  cer- 
tain energy  of  the  fancy ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  aes- 
thetical is  not  sublime  without  a  certain  energy  of  the 
reason.  The  idea  of  the  Absolute  demands  an  unu- 
sual development  of  the  lofty  rational  faculty,  a  certain 
fertility  in  ideas,  and  a  more  accurate  acquaintance  of 
man  with  his  noblest  self.  He  will  never  be  capable 
of  making  a  supersensuous  use  of  sensuous  greatness, 
whose  reason  has  yet  received  no  culture.  The  reason 
will  never  employ  itself  in  the  business,  and  it  will 
be  committed  to  the  imagination,  or  to  the  intellect 
alone.  But  the  imagination  singly  is  far  from  engag- 
ing in  a  process  of  comprehension,  which  is  painful  to 
it.    It  is,  then,  satisfied  with  mere  apprehension,  and 


300 


^ESTHETIC  estimation  of  size. 


it  never  feels  the  desire  to  give  an  universality  to 
its  expositions.  Hence  the  stupid  insensibility,  with 
which  the  savage  can  dwell  in  the  bosom  of  the  sub- 
limest  nature,  among  the  symbols  of  the  Infinite,  with- 
out being  roused  from  his  brutish  slumber,  without 
even  divining  from  afar  the  great  spirit  of  Nature, 
which  speaks  to  a  feeling  soul  out  of  the  sensuous  im- 
mensity. 

What  the  rude  savage  gazes  at  with  senseless  apathy, 
the  enervated  voluptuary  flees  from  as  an  object  of  ab- 
horrence, which  reveals  to  him  only  his  weakness,  not 
his  power.  His  narrow  heart  feels  painfully  rent  asun- 
der by  representations  of  greatness.  It  is  true,  his 
fancy  is  sufficiently  susceptible  to  attempt  the  exposi- 
tion of  the  sensuo-infinite,  but  his  reason  is  not  suffi- 
ciently substantial,  to  terminate  this  undertaking  with 
success.  He  would  climb  towards  it,  but,  while  half 
way,  sinks  back  exhausted.  He  contends  with  the  fear- 
ful Genius,  but  it  is  only  with  terrestrial,  not  immortal 
weapons.  Conscious  of  this  weakness,  he  rather  shuns 
a  presence  which  oppresses  him,  and  seeks  aid  from 
Rule,  the  comforter  of  all  the  weak.  If  he  cannot  el- 
evate himself  to  natural  greatness,  nature  must  con- 
form to  his  little  capacity.  She  must  exchange  her 
bold  forms  for  artificial  ones,  which  are  foreign  to  her, 
but  which  are  made  an  exigency  by  his  pampered 
senses.  She  must  subject  her  will  to  its  iron  yoke,  and 
crouch  in  the  fetters  of  mathematical  conformity.  This 
was  the  origin  of  the  old  French  taste  in  gardens, 
which  finally  gave  way  almost  universally  to  the  Eng- 


^ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


301 


lish,  but  without  thereby  coming  perceptibly  nearer  to 
the  true  taste.  For  Nature's  character  is  no  more  a 
mere  manifoldness  than  it  is  an  uniformity  :  and  her 
grave  and  tranquil  sedateness  is  just  as  little  compatible 
with  these  hasty  and  frivolous  transitions,  with  which 
in  the  modern  style  they  hurriedly  shift  her  decora- 
tions. In  all  her  mutations  she  never  lays  aside  her 
harmonious  unity  ;  she  conceals  her  fulness  in  modest 
simplicity,  and  we  see,  even  in  her  most  luxuriant  free- 
dom, that  she  respects  the  law  of  stability.1 

Among  the  objective  conditions  of  mathematical 
sublimity,  the  first  is,  that  the  object  in  which  we  would 
recognize  it,  should  form  a  whole  and  so  manifest  uni- 
ty ;  the  second,  that  it  should  make  the  highest  sensu- 
ous measure,  to  which  we* are  wont  to  refer  all  magni- 
tudes, entirely  useless.  Without  the  first,  the  imagina- 
tion would  not  be  summoned  to  attempt  an  exposition 
of  its  totality  ;  without  the  second,  it  would  not  be  able 
to  fail  in  this  attempt. 

The  horizon  exceeds  every  magnitude,  which  can 
anywhere  come  under  our  observation,  for  all  objects 
in  space  must  be  included  within  it.    We  observe  not 

1  Horticulture  and  dramatic  poetry  have  lately  met  with  nearly  the 
same  fate,  and  in  fact  among  the  same  nations.  The  same  tyranny 
of  rule  in  the  French  gardens  and  the  French  tragedies ;  the  same 
wild  and  manifold  irregularity  in  the  parks  of  the  English  and  in  their 
Shakspeare ;  and  as  the  German  taste  has  hitherto  received  its  tone 
from  the  foreign,  it  must  in  this  respect  also  vacillate  between  both 
of  those  extremes. 


302 


AESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OP  SIZE. 


the  less,  that  a  single  mountain  which  rises  itself  there- 
in, is  often  capable  of  giving  us  a  far  stronger  impres- 
sion of  sublimity,  than  the  whole  circle  of  vision,  which 
embraces  not  only  this  mountain,  but  a  thousand  other 
objects  of  magnitude.  This  happens  because  the  hori- 
zon does  not  appear  to  us  as  a  single  object,  and  thus 
we  are  not  invited  to  comprehend  it  as  an  entirety. 
But  if  we  abstract  from  the  horizon  all  objects  which 
attract  the  sight  particularly,  and  imagine  a  wide  and 
unbroken  plain  or  the  open  sea,  the  horizon  itself  will 
become  an  object,  and  truly  the  most  sublime  that  the 
eye  can  ever  contemplate.  Its  sphericity  in  particular 
contributes  much  to  this  impression,  since  it  is  so 
easily  embraced,  so  that  the  imagination  can  the  less 
abstain  from  attempting  its  full  conception. 

But  the  aesthetic  impression  of  magnitude  depends 
upon  the  fact,  that  the  imagination  attempts  the  t<  tal 
representation  of  the  given  object  in  vain,  and  this 
can  only  occur,  when  the  highest  measure  of  magni- 
tude which  it  can  actually  embrace  at  once,  added  to 
itself  as  many  times  as  the  intellect  can  actually  com- 
prehend in  a  conception,  is  too  small  for  the  object. 
But  the  result  seems  to  be,  that  objects  of  equal  mag- 
nitude must  also  make  an  equally  sublime  impression, 
and  that  an  object  of  less  magnitude  has  the  power  to 
lessen  this  impression  —  which  is  contrary  to  experi- 
ence. For  according  to  this,  the  part  frequently  ap- 
pears sublimer  than  the  whole,  the  mountain  or  the 
tower  sublimer  than  the  sky  in  which  it  rears  itself — 
the  cliff  sublimer  than  the  ocean  whose  waves  foam 


^ESTHETIC   ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE. 


303 


around  it.  But  we  must  here  recollect  the  above  men- 
tioned conditions,  by  virtue  of  which  the  aesthetic  im- 
pression only  ensues  when  the  totality  of  the  object 
employs  the  imagination.  But  if  the  latter  omits  this 
with  respect  to  the  far  greater  object,  and,  on  the  con- 
trary, observes  it  with  the  smaller,  it  may  be  sestheti- 
cally  affected  by  the  latter,  and  yet  be  insensible  to  the 
former.  But  if  it  conceives  of  the  larger  as  a  mao-ni- 
tude,  it  at  the  same  time  conceives  of  it  as  an  unity, 
and  then  it  must  necessarily  make  an  impression 
stronger  in  proportion  as  it  exceeds  the  other  in  mag- 
nitude. 

AW  sensuous  magnitudes  are  either  in  Space  (ex- 
tended magnitudes),  or  in  time  (numeral  magnitudes). 
Although  every  extended  magnitude  is  at  the  same 
time  a  numeral  magnitude  (since  that  which  is  given 
in  Space  we  must  also  comprehend  in  Time),  the  nu- 
meral magnitude  itself  is  only  so  far  sublime  as  I  trans- 
form it  into  an  extended  magnitude.  It  is  true,  the 
remoteness  of  the  earth  from  Sirius  is  a  prodigious 
Quantum  in  Time,  and  outrunning  my  fancy  when  I 
would  conceive  its  totality  ;  but  I  cease  to  employ  my- 
self in  contemplating  this  Time-magnitude,  and  assist 
myself  by  figures  ;  and  then  I  only  obtain  the  impres- 
sion of  sublimity  by  recollecting  that  the  highest  extend- 
ed magnitude,  which  I  can  comprehend  in  an  unity  — 
a  range  of  mountains,  for  example,  is  still  a  measure 
much  too  small  and  entirely  inadequate  for  this  re- 
moteness. Then  I  take  the  measure  to  be  applied  to 
it  from  extended  magnitudes  ;  so  it  depends  upon  the 
measure,  whether  an  object  shall  appear  to  us  great. 


30-4 


.ESTHETIC   ESTIMATION   OF   SIZE , 


Extended  greatness  either  appears  in  Lengths  or  in 
Heights;  Depths  are  also  included,  for  depth  is  only 
a  height  below  us.  just  as  height  may  be  called  a  depth 
above  us.  Hence  the  Latin  poets  do  not  hesitate  to 
use  the  expression  profundus  even  with  respect  to 
heights  : 

"  Xi  faciat,  maria  ac  terras  ecelumque  profundum 
Quippe  ferant  rapidi  secuin  ." 

Heights  appear  altogether  more  sublime  than  equallv 
great  lengths,  the  reason  of  which  lies  partly  in  the 
fact,  that  dynamical  sublimity  is  associated  with  the 
aspect  of  the  first.  A  simple  length,  however  immeas- 
urable it  may  be.  has  nothing  fearful  in  itself,  but  a 
height  certainly  has,  since  we  might  be  precipitated 
from  it.  For  the  same  reason  depth  is  still  more  sub- 
lime than  height,  since  the  idea  of  the  fearful  is  closely 
united  with  it.  If  a  great  height  would  be  appalling 
for  us.  we  must  first  imagine  ourselves  at  tlie  top,  and 
then  change  it  into  a  depth.  We  can  easily  make  such 
an  experiment,  if  we  look  at  a  cloudy  sky  chequered 
with  blue  in  a  well,  or  else  in  a  dark  piece  of  water, 
where  its  infinite  depth  gives  an  appearance  far  more 
awful  than  its  height  The  same  occurs  in  a  higher 
degree,  if  we  regard  it  while  stretched  upon  our  backs, 
in  which  position  it  is  also  changed  into  a  depth  ;  and 
since  it  is  the  only  object  that  meets  the  eye,  our 
imagination  is  irresistibly  impelled  to  set  forth  its  to- 
tality. Height  and  depth  operate  more  powerfully 
upon  us  for  this  reason  also,  that  the  estimation  oftheir 


ESTHETIC  ESTIMATION  OF  SIZE.  305 

magnitude  is  weakened  by  no  comparison.  A  length 
always  has  a  scale  in  the  horizon,  beneath  which  it  is 
lost  —  for  the  sky  extends  as  far  as  any  length.  It  is 
true,  the  highest  range  of  mountains  is  small  in  com- 
parison with  the  height  of  the  sky,  but  it  is  only  the 
intellect,  and  not  the  eye,  which  teaches  that,  and  it 
is  not  the  heaven  which  makes  the  mountains  diminu- 
tive by  its  height,  but  the  mountains  show  by  their 
magnitude  the  height  of  the  heaven. 

Hence  it  is  not  only  a  representation  optically  just, 
but  also  symbolically  true,  when  it  is  said  that  Atlas 
supports  the  heavens.  For  as  the  sky  itself  appears  to 
rest  upon  Atlas,  so  does  our  representation  of  the 
height  of  the  sky  rest  upon  the  height  of  Atlas.  Then 
the  mountain  in  a  figurative  sense  actually  sustains 
the  sky,  as  it  supports  it  for  our  sensuous  representa- 
tion of  its  height.  Without  the  mountain  the  sky  would 
fall — that  is,  it  would  optically  sink  from  its  height 
and  become  depressed. 


20 


UPON 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


We  take  delight  in  the  simple  condition  of  emotion, 
independent  of  every  relation  of  its  object  to  our  im- 
provement or  depravation  ;  and  we  strive  to  transport 
ourselves  into  that  condition,  even  if  it  involves  some 
sacrifice.  This  impulse  underlies  our  most  customary 
pleasures ;  little  regard  being  had  as  to  whether  the 
emotion  creates  desire  or  aversion,  whether  it  is  natu- 
rally pleasant  or  painful.  Indeed,  experience  teaches 
that  an  unpleasant  emotion  has  the  greater  attraction 
for  us,  and  that  consequently  pleasure  at  emotion 
stands  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  its  content.  It  is  an  uni- 
versal phenomenon  of  our  nature,  that  the  mournful, 
the  fearful,  even  the  horrible,  allures  with  irresistible 
enchantment  —  that  we  feel  ourselves  alternately  re- 
pelled and  attracted  with  equal  power,  at  the  approach 
of  grief  and  of  horror.  We  press  on  the  tiptoe  of  ex- 
pectation around  the  narrator  of  a  tale  of  murder ;  we 
devour  with  appetite  the  wildest  goblin  stories,  and  all 
the  more  eagerly,  as  they  make  our  hair  to  stand  on  end. 


310 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


This  feeling  is  more  vividly  expressed  at  actual  in- 
tuition of  objects.  If  we  view  from  the  shore  a  tem- 
pest, in  which  a  whole  fleet  founders,  our  imagination 
will  be  delighted  as  strongly  as  our  feelings  are  moved ; 
it  would  be  hard  to  believe,  with  Lucretius,  that  this 
natural  pleasure  results  from  a  comparison  of  our  own 
safety  with  the  peril  that  is  perceived.  How  dense  is 
the  crowd  that  accompanies  a  criminal  to  the  scene  of 
his  punishment !  Neither  the  satisfaction  of  a  love  of 
jusuice,  nor  the  ignoble  pleasure  of  gratified  revenge, 
can  explain  this  phenomenon.  For  the  unhappy  one 
may  even  find  absolution  in  the  hearts  of  the  spectators, 
and  the  most  lively  sympathy  for  his  preservation  may 
be  active  ;  and  yet  a  greedy  desire,  stronger  or  weaker, 
impels  the  spectator  to  direct  both  eye  and  ear  to  the 
expression  of  his  suffering.  If  the  man  of  culture  and 
refinement  of  feelings  is  an  exception,  it  is  not  because 
this  impulse  has  no  existence  within  him,  but  because 
he  is  overcome  by  the  painful  strength  of  his  sympathy, 
or  is  withheld  by  the  laws  of  propriety.  The  rude  son 
of  nature,  who  is  restrained  by  no  tender  feeling  of  hu- 
manity, surrenders  himself  to  this  powerful  incitement 
without  aversion.  It  must,  then,  be  founded  in  the 
original  dispositions  of  the  human  mind,  and  its  expla- 
nation must  lie  in  some  general  psychological  law. 

But  if  we  also  find  these  rude  natural  feelings  in- 
compatible with  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  and 
therefore  hesitate  to  found  thereon  a  law  for  the  whole 
race,  there  are  empirical  facts  sufficient  to  place  be- 
yond doubt  the  reality  and  the  universality  of  pleasure  at 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


311 


painful  emotions.  The  severe  conflict  of  opposing  in- 
clinations or  duties,  which  is  a  source  of  misery  for 
those  who  suffer  it,  is  delightful  for  us  who  contemplate 
it :  we  follow  with  ever  increasing  pleasure  the  pro- 
gress of  a  passion  to  the  very  abyss  into  which  it  hurls 
its  unhappy  victim.  The  same  tender  feeling  which 
makes  us  recoil  from  the  sight  of  physical  suffering,  or 
even  from  the  physical  expression  of  a  moral  suffering, 
causes  us  to  find  a  pleasure  all  the  sweeter  in  sympathy 
with  pure  moral  pain.  The  interest  is  universal  with 
which  we  linger  over  the  delineations  of  such  objects. 

This  naturally  regards  only  an  emotion  which  is 
communicated  or  reproduced  ;  for  the  near  relation  in 
which  an  original  emotion  stands  to  our  impulse  for 
happiness,  usually  occupies  and  busies  us  too  much,  to 
allow  room  for  the  pleasure  which  it  grants  when  free 
from  every  personal  relation.  So  the  feeling  of  pain 
predominates  in  him  who  is  actually  governed  by  a 
distressing  passion,  however  much  the  delineation  of 
his  mental  state  may  please  the  hearer  or  spectator. 
Nevertheless,  even  the  original  painful  emotion  is  not 
entirely  destitute  of  pleasure  for  him  who  suffers  it : 
only  the  degrees  of  this  pleasure  differ  according  to 
the  varieties  of  mental  constitution.  If  no  enjoyment 
existed  even  in  unrest,  in  doubt,  in  fear,  games  of 
chance  would  have  far  less  attraction  for  us,  we  should 
not  plunge  into  peril  with  a  bold  temerity,  and  sympa- 
thy with  foreign  suffering  would  not  give  us  the 
liveliest  delight  at  the  very  moment  of  the  greatest  il- 
lusion and  self-substitution.    But  it  is  not  therefore 


312 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


affirmed,  that  unpleasant  emotions  confer  pleasure  in 
and  for  themselves —  an  assertion  which  no  one  would 
think  of  maintaining  :  enough,  if  these  mental  states 
only  secure  the  conditions,  under  which  alone  we  find 
certain  kinds  of  satisfaction  possible.  Then  the  minds 
which  are  particularly  susceptible  to  these  kinds  of 
satisfaction,  and  which  especially  covet  them,  will  be 
more  easily  reconciled  with  those  unpleasant  condi- 
tions, and  will  not  entirely  lose  their  freedom  even  in 
the  most  violent  storms  of  passion. 

The  displeasure  which  we  experience  at  disagreea- 
ble emotions,  originates  in  the  relation  of  its  object  to 
our  sensuous  or  moral  faculty  ;  and  our  pleasure  at 
agreeable  emotions  springs  from  the  same  source.  Al- 
so the  degree  of  freedom  which  a  man  can  maintain  in 
the  midst  of  emotions,  depends  upon  the  proportion 
which  exists  between  his  sensuous  and  his  moral  na- 
ture ;  and  as  it  is  understood  that  no  choice  exists  for 
us  in  the  moral  sphere,  while,  on  the  contrary,  the 
sensuous  impulse  is  subject  to  the  legislation  of  the 
reason,  and  is  thus  in  our  power,  at  least  ought  to  be, 
—  it  is  obvious  that  it  is  possible  to  maintain  a  perfect 
freedom  in  all  those  emotions  which  have  to  do  with 
the  selfish  impulse,  and  to  be  master  of  the  degree  to 
which  they  ought  to  rise.  This  will  be  weaker,  just 
in  proportion  to  the  superiority  which  the  moral  sense 
maintains  over  a  man's  impulse  for  happiness,  and  to 
the  diminution,  by  obedience  to  universal  laws  of 
reason,  of  the  selfish  attachment  to  his  individual  Me. 
Then  such  a  man  will  have,  in  the  condition  of  emo 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


313 


tion,  a  less  vivid  perception  of  the  relation  of  an  ob- 
ject to  his  impulse  for  happiness,  and  will  consequently 
experience  far  less  of  the  displeasure  which  only  re- 
sults from  this  relation.  On  the  contrary,  he  will  so 
much  the  more  heed  the  proportion  which  this  object 
holds  to  his  morality,  and  be  therefore  so  much  the 
more  susceptible  to  the  pleasure  which  the  relation  to 
the  moral  sense  often  mingles  with  the  most  painful 
sufferings  of  sensuousness.  Such  a  mental  disposition 
is  the  best  fitted  to  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  compassion, 
and  to  preserve  the  original  emotion  itself  within  the 
limits  of  compassion.  Hence  the  great  value  of  a  phi- 
losophy of  life,  which  weakens  the  feeling  of  our  indi- 
viduality by  continual  reference  to  universal  laws,  which 
teaches  us  to  lose  our  little  Self  in  the  coherence 
of  the  great  whole,  and  thereby  puts  us  in  a  state  to 
treat  with  ourselves  as  with  strangers.  This  sublime 
temper  of  the  soul  is  the  lot  of  strong  and  philosophic 
minds,  who  have  learned,  by  continuous  labor  upon 
themselves,  to  subdue  the  selfish  impulse.  Even  the 
bitterest  misfortune  never  carries  them  beyond  a  sad- 
ness, which  too  may  always  be  united  with  a  percepti- 
ble degree  of  pleasure.  Only  those  who  are  able  to 
separate  themselves  from  themselves,  enjoy  the  privi- 
lege of  compassionating  themselves,  and  of  feeling  a 
personal  suffering  in  the  mild  reflection  of  sympathy. 

The  preceding  remarks  intimate  with  sufficient  clear- 
ness, the  sources  of  the  enjoyment  which  emotion,  and 
especially  that  which  is  mournful,  guaranties  to  us. 


314 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


It  is  greater,  as  we  have  seen,  in  moral  dispositions, 
and  it  operates  freely  in  proportion  to  the  mind's  inde- 
pendence of  the  selfish  impulse.  And  farther,  it  is 
more  lively  and  vigorous  in  mournful  emotions,  where 
the  self-love  is  disturbed,  than  in  joyful  emotions, 
which  suppose  a  satisfaction  of  the  latter  :  then  it  in- 
creases where  the  selfish  impulse  is  offended,  and  de- 
creases where  this  impulse  is  flattered.  But  we  know 
only  two  sources  of  enjoyment,  the  satisfaction  of  the 
impulse  for  happiness,  and  the  fulfilment  of  moral  laws  : 
a  pleasure,  then,  which  is  proved  not  to  result  from  the 
former  source,  must  necessarily  originate  from  the  lat- 
ter. Thus  the  pleasure  with  which  painful  emotions 
affect  us  at  second  hand,  results  from  our  moral  na- 
ture; and  in  certain  cases  they  may  affect  us  agreea- 
bly, even  when  felt  at  first  hand. 

Attempts  have  been  made  in  many  ways,  to  explain 
the  enjoyment  of  compassion  :  but  none  of  the  solutions 
could  be  satisfactory,  because  the  ground  of  the  phe- 
nomenon was  sought  in  accompanying  circumstances 
rather  than  in  the  nature  itself  of  emotion.  With 
many,  the  enjoyment  of  compassion  is  nothing  but  the 
enjoyment  of  the  soul  in  its  own  sensibility :  with  oth- 
ers, pleasure  in  a  highly  excited  state  of  mental  activi- 
ty :  some  make  it  result  from  the  discovery  of  morally 
beautiful  traits  of  character,  on  occasion  of  a  conflict 
with  misfortune  and  passion.  But  the  point  still  re- 
mains unsolved,  why  exactly  the  pain  itself,  the  special 
suffering,  should  attract  us  the  most  powerfully  in  ob- 
jects of  compassion,  since,  according  to  the  above  ex- 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


315 


planations,  a  weaker  degree  of  suffering  must  evidently 
be  more  favorable  to  the  alleged  causes  of  our  pleas- 
ure at  emotion.  The  liveliness  and  vigor  of  the  repre- 
sentations excited  in  our  fancy,  the  moral  excellence 
of  the  suffering  person,  the  introversion  of  the  sympa- 
thizing Subject  upon  himself,  may  indeed  heighten  the 
pleasure  at  emotion,  but  they  are  not  the  causes  which 
produce  it.  The  suffering  of  a  feeble  soul,  the  grief 
of  a  villain,  certainly  do  not  secure  to  us  this  enjoy- 
ment, but  not  because  they  do  not  excite  our  compas- 
sion in  the  same  degree  as  would  the  suffering  hero  or 
the  struggling  saint.  Then  the  prior  question  continu- 
ally recurs,  why  precisely  the  degree  of  suffering  should 
define  the  degree  of  sympathetic  pleasure  at  emotion  : 
and  it  can  only  be  answered  by  supposing  the  attack 
upon  our  sensuousness  to  be  the  condition  for  the  ex- 
citement of  that  mental  power,  whose  activity  creates 
that  sympathetic  enjoyment  at  suffering. 

Now  this  power  is  none  other  than  the  Reason ;  and 
in  so  far  as  its  free  efficiency,  as  absolute  spontaneity, 
specially  deserves  the  name  of  activity,  in  so  far  as  the 
mind  feels  perfectly  free  and  independent  only  in  its 
moral  action,  —  in  so  far,  certainly,  is  the  satisfied  im- 
pulse for  activity  the  source  of  our  enjoyment  at  mourn- 
ful emotions.  But  then  that  which  underlies  this  en- 
joyment is  not  the  number,  not  the  vivacity  of  repre- 
sentations, not  the  activity  of  the  mental  powers,  but  it 
is  a  definite  species  of  the  former,  and  a  definite,  ra- 
tionally created  activity  of  the  latter. 

We  find,  then,  a  communicated  emotion  delightful, 


316 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


because  it  satisfies  the  impulse  for  activity  :  a  mourn- 
ful emotion  secures  that  effect  in  a  higher  degree,  be- 
cause it  satisfies  this  impulse  in  a  higher  degree.  The 
mind  expresses  its  highest  activity  only  in  its  condition 
of  perfect  freedom,  only  in  the  consciousness  of  its  ra- 
tional nature,  since  only  there  does  it  make  application 
of  a  power  which  is  superior  to  every  resistance. 

Then  that  mental  condition  which  is  specially  favor- 
able for  the  annunciation  of  this  power,  and  which 
awakens  this  lofty  activity,  is  most  appropriate  for  a 
rational  being,  and  most  satisfactory  to  the  impulse  for 
activity ;  it  must,  then,  be  united  with  an  especial  de- 
gree of  pleasure.  A  mournful  emotion  places  us  in 
such  a  condition,  and  the  pleasure  it  causes  must  sur- 
pass the  pleasure  at  joyful  emotion,  according  as  our 
moral  ability  is  elevated  above  our  sensuousness. 

That  which  is  only  a  subordinate  member  in  the 
whole  system  of  design,  Art  may  separate  from  its  con- 
nection and  pursue  as  a  main  design.  Enjoyment  may 
be  only  a  mediate  design  for  Nature  :  for  Art  it  is  the 
highest.  Then  it  pertains  particularly  to  the  design  of 
the  latter,  not  to  neglect  the  lofty  enjoyment  which  is 
contained  in  mournful  emotions.  But  that  art  in  par- 
ticular, whose  design  is  the  enjoyment  of  compassion, 
is,  by  universal  acceptance,  called  the  Tragic  Art. 

Art  fulfils  its  design  by  an  imitation  of  nature,  wrhen 
it  fulfils  the  conditions  under  which  enjoyment  becomes 
possible  in  reality,  and  unites,  according  to  an  intelli- 
gent plan,  the  scattered  institutes  of  nature,  in  order  to 
attain  as  its  final  aim,  that  which  nature  only  made  her 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


317 


accessory  design.  Then  the  Tragic  Art  will  imitate 
nature  in  those  actions  which  have  a  special  power  to 
awake  compassionate  emotion. 

In  order,  then,  to  prescribe  to  Tragic  Art  some  uni- 
versal method  of  procedure,  it  is  above  all  necessary  to 
know  the  conditions  under  which,  according  to  daily 
experience,  the  enjoyment  of  emotion  is  wont  to  be 
most  certainly  and  strongly  created :  but,  at  the  same 
time,  those  circumstances  must  be  regarded,  which 
confine  or  entirely  destroy  it. 

Experience  gives  two  opposite  causes,  which  hinder 
enjoyment  at  emotion  :  either  if  compassion  is  too 
feebly  excited,  or  so  strongly,  that  the  communicated 
emotion  passes  over  into  the  vivacity  of  an  original 
emotion.  The  former  may  lie  either  in  the  weakness 
of  the  impression  which  we  receive  from  original  suf- 
fering, in  which  case  we  say  that  our  heart  remains 
cold,  and  we  are  sensible  of  neither  sorrow  nor  enjoy- 
ment ;  or  it  lies  in  the  strong  perceptions  which  resist 
the  given  impression,  and  weaken  or  entirely  destroy 
the  enjoyment  of  compassion  by  their  preponderance 
in  the  mind. 

There  is,  with  every  tragic  emotion,  the  representa- 
tion of  incongruity  ( Ziveckwidrigkeit ) ,  which  in  every 
case,  if  the  emotion  would  be  pleasing,  leads  to  a  rep- 
resentation of  a  higher  congruity  (with  a  design).  It 
depends  upon  the  relation  between  these  two  opposite 
representations,  whether  pleasure  or  displeasure  pre- 
dominates on  occasion  of  an  emotion.  If  the  represen- 
tation of  incongruity  is  more  lively  than  that  of  the 


318 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


opposite,  or  if  the  design  which  is  violated  is  of  greater 
importance  than  that  which  is  fulfilled,  displeasure  will 
always  have  the  upper  hand  ;  and  this  may  be  true  ob- 
jectively of  the  human  race,  or  only  subjectively  of  in- 
dividuals. 

If  displeasure  at  the  cause  of  a  misfortune  becomes 
too  strong,  it  wakens  our  compassion  for  him  who  suf- 
fers. Two  entirely  distinct  perceptions  cannot  exist  at 
the  same  time  in  the  mind  in  a  high  degree.  Indig- 
nation against  the  originator  of  the  suffering  will  be- 
come the  prevailing  emotion,  and  every  other  feeling 
must  give  way  to  it.  So  our  sympathy  is  always  weak- 
ened, if  the  unfortunate  person  whom  we  ought  to 
compassionate,  has  plunged  into  ruin  through  his  own 
unpardonable  guilt,  or,  from  weakness  of  intellect  and 
from  imbecility,  does  not  know  how  to  extricate  him- 
self, while  he  has  an  opportunity.  It  injures  not  a  little 
our  sympathy  with  the  unfortunate  Lear,  abused  by 
his  ungrateful  daughters,  that  the  childish  old  man 
should  resign  his  crown  so  inconsiderately,  and  divide 
his  love  so  foolishly  among  his  daughters.  In  Cronegh's 
tragedy,  Olinthus  and  Sophronia,  the  most  fearful  suf- 
fering to  which  we  see  both  of  these  martyrs  to  their 
faith  exposed,  can  but  feebly  excite  our  compassion, 
and  their  sublime  heroism  can  extort  but  little  admira- 
tion, because  madness  alone  can  prompt  an  action  like 
that  by  which  Olinthus  brought  himself  and  his  whole 
people  to  the  edge  of  ruin. 

Our  compassion  is  equally  weakened,  if  the  origina- 
tor of  a  misfortune,  whose  innocent  victim  we  ought  to 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


319 


compassionate,  fills  our  soul  with  abhorrence.  The 
tragic  poet  will  always  mar  the  perfection  of  his  work, 
if  he  cannot  succeed  without  introducing  a  villain, 
and  if  he  is  compelled  to  deduce  greatness  of  suffering 
from  greatness  of  crime.  Shakspeare's  Iago  and  Lady 
Macbeth,  Cleopatra  in  Roxolana,  Franz  Moor  in  the 
Robbers,  testify  for  this  assertion.  A  poet,  who  un- 
derstands his  true  interest,  will  not  let  misfortune  de- 
pend upon  an  evil  will  which  meditates  misfortune,  nor 
still  less  upon  a  deficiency  of  intellect,  but  upon  the 
stress  of  circumstances.  If  it  does  not  result  from 
moral  sources,  but  from  external  things,  which  neither 
have  a  will  nor  are  subject  to  one,  our  compassion  is 
purer,  and,  at  least,  is  not  weakened  by  any  representa- 
tion of  moral  incongruity.  But  then  the  sympathizing 
spectator  is  not  exempt  from  the  unpleasant  feeling  of 
an  incongruity  in  nature,  which  in  this  case  moral 
conformity  alone  can  save.  Compassion  mounts  to  a 
degree  much  higher,  if  its  objects  are  both  him  who 
suffers  and  him  who  originates  the  suffering.  This 
can  occur  only  if  the  latter  excites  neither  our  hatred 
nor  our  contempt,  but  has  been  brought  against  his  in- 
clination, to  become  the  author  of  misfortune.  Thus 
it  is  a  preeminent  beauty  in  the  German  Iphigenia, 
that  the  king  of  Taurus,  the  only  one  who  opposes  the 
wishes  of  Orestes  and  his  sister,  never  forfeits  our  re- 
gard, and  even  extorts  love  from  us  at  last. 

This  species  of  the  affecting  is  yet  surpassed  by  that 
in  which  the  cause  of  misfortune  is  not  only  not  contra- 
dictory to  morality,  but  is  only  possible  through  moral- 


320 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


ity,  and  where  the  reciprocal  suffering  only  results 
from  the  representation  of  the  suffering  awakened.  Of 
this  kind  is  the  situation  of  Chimenen  and  Roderic,  in 
the  Cid  of  Peter  Corneille  :  unquestionably,  as  regards 
the  complication  of  events,  the  master-piece  of  the 
tragic  stage.  Honor  and  filial  duty  arm  Roderic's 
hand  against  the  father  of  his  beloved,  and  bravery 
gives  him  the  victory ;  honor  and  filial  duty  arouse 
against  him  a  fearful  accuser  and  persecutor  in  Chime- 
nen, the  daughter  of  the  slain.  Both  act  against  their 
inclination,  which  shrinks  from  the  misfortune  of  the 
persecuted  object,  with  an  anxiety  equal  to  the  zeal 
with  which  moral  duty  causes  it  to  summon  this  mis- 
fortune. Then  both  win  our  highest  regard,  because 
they  fulfil  a  moral  duty  at  the  cost  of  inclination,  both 
inflame  our  compassion  to  the  highest  degree,  because 
they  surfer  voluntarily,  and  from  a  motive  which  ren- 
ders them  highly  estimable.  Here  then  our  compas- 
sion is  so  little  disturbed  by  contrary  feelings,  that  it 
rather  burns  with  twofold  intensity  ;  and  our  sympa- 
thetic pleasure  can  still  be  sobered  by  a  shade  of  sad- 
ness, only  through  the  impossibility  of  reconciling  the 
idea  of  adversity  with  the  greatest  worthiness  for  pros- 
perity. Yet,  however  much  may  be  gained  in  the  fact 
that  our  displeasure  at  this  incongruity  concerns  no 
moral  being,  but  takes  the  most  harmless  direction, 
and  is  turned  against  necessity,  it  is  all  counterbalanced 
by  that  blind  subjection  to  destiny,  which  is  always  so 
humiliating  and  mortifying  to  free,  self-determining 
beings.    It  is  this  which  still  leaves  something  to  be 


THE  TRAGIC  ART.  321 

desired  even  in  the  admirable  pieces  of  the  Grecian 
stage,  because  in  all  of  these  a  final  appeal  is  made  to 
necessity,  and  a  knot  is  always  left  undone  for  our 
reason,  which  is  wont  to  demand  that  there  should  be 
reason.  But  this  too  is  loosed,  and  with  it  every 
shadow  of  displeasure  vanishes,  when  man  has  attained 
the  last  and  highest  point  of  his  moral  culture,  the  one 
to  which  the  emotive  Art  can  raise  him.  This  hap- 
pens, if  this  dissatisfaction  with  destiny  falls  away  and 
is  merged  in  a  conjecture,  or  rather,  in  a  distinct  con- 
sciousness of  a  teleological  connection  of  things,  of  an 
elevated  order,  of  a  beneficent  Will.  Then,  the  re- 
freshing representation  of  complete  design  in  the  great 
whole  of  nature,  is  united  with  our  enjoyment  at  the 
perception  of  moral  harmony ;  and  the  apparent  vio- 
lation of  the  former,  which  moved  us  to  sorrow  in  the 
single  case,  becomes  only  an  incentive  for  our  reason 
to  search  in  universal  laws  for  a  vindication  of  this 
special  case,  and  to  dissolve  the  single  discord  in  the 
great  harmony.  Grecian  Art  never  mounted  to  this 
pure  height  of  tragic  emotion,  because  neither  the  pop- 
ular religion  nor  even  the  philosophy  of  the  Greeks  had 
matured  them  for  such  an  effort.  It  is  reserved  for 
modern  art,  which  enjoys  the  advantage  of  receiving  a 
purer  material  from  an  enlightened  philosophy,  to  fulfil 
this  lofty  demand,  and  thus  to  unfold  the  whole  moral 
dignity  of  Art.  If  we  must  really  despair  of  ever  re- 
storing Grecian  Art,  because  the  philosophic  genius 
of  the  age  and  modern  culture  are  unfavorable  to  po- 
etry, yet  they  operate  less  detrimentally  for  the  Tragic 
21 


322 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


Art,  which  is  more  secure  upon  a  moral  base.  Per- 
haps our  culture  compensates  that  special  art  for  the 
robbery  which  it  has  committed  upon  Art  in  general. 

As  the  force  of  tragic  emotion  is  weakened  by  the 
introduction  of  disagreeable  representations  and  feel- 
ings, and  the  pleasure  it  produces  is  thereby  diminished, 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  by  approximating  too  closely  to 
the  original  emotion,  it  may  deviate  to  a  point  where 
the  grief  will  preponderate.  It  has  been  remarked, 
that  displeasure  during  emotion  originates  from  the  re- 
lation of  its  object  to  our  sensuousness,  and  pleasure 
from  the  relation  of  the  emotion  itself  to  our  moral 
sense.  Then  there  is  presupposed  a  definite  proportion 
between  our  sensuousness  and  our  morality,  which  de- 
termines the  proportion  of  displeasure  to  pleasure  dur- 
ing mournful  emotions,  and  which  can  neither  be  alter- 
ed or  reversed,  without  also  reversing  the  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  displeasure  in  emotion,  or  changing  each 
to  its  opposite.  The  more  actively  sensuousness  reigns 
in  our  dispositions,  the  weaker  will  be  the  influence  of 
the  moral  sense,  and  inversely,  the  more  power  the 
former  loses,  the  more  strength  the  latter  wins.  Then 
that  which  gives  a  preponderance  to  the  sensuousness 
in  our  dispositions,  must  necessarily,  from  the  constraint 
which  it  imposes  upon  the  moral  sense,  diminish  our 
enjoyment  in  emotions,  which  results  only  from  this 
moral  sense  :  likewise  all  that  gives  an  impulse  to  the 
latter  in  our  minds,  disarms  grief  of  its  sting,  even  in 
cases  of  original  emotion.  But  our  sensuousness  ac- 
tually acquires  this  preponderance,  if  the  representa- 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


323 


lions  of  sorrow  rise  to  such  a  degree  of  vivacity,  as  to 
make  it  impossible  for  us  to  distinguish  the  communi- 
cated from  an  original  emotion,  our  own  Me  from  the 
subject  of  the  suffering,  or  truth  from  fiction.  It  also 
acquires  this  preponderance,  if  it  is  favored  by  an  ac- 
cumulation of  its  objects,  and  by  the  delusive  light 
which  an  excited  imagination  throws  around  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  nothing  is  better  suited  to  refer  it 
back  again  to  its  limits,  than  the  cooperation  of  super- 
sensuous,  moral  ideas,  upon  which,  as  spiritual  points 
of  vantage,  the  reason  may  sustain  itself  in  rising  out 
of  the  dim  atmosphere  of  the  feelings  into  a  clearer 
horizon.  Hence  the  great  charm  which  universal 
truths  or  maxims,  scattered  judiciously  through  a  dra- 
matic dialogue,  have  had  for  all  cultivated  nations,  and 
hence  the  almost  excessive  use  to  which  they  were  ap- 
propriated by  the  Greeks.  Nothing  is  more  welcome  to 
a  moral  disposition,  than  to  be  roused  from  sensuous 
service  to  self-activity  and  to  be  restored  to  its  free- 
dom, after  a  long  sustained  condition  of  mere  suffer- 
ing. 

So  much  for  the  causes  which  restrict  our  compas- 
sion, and  obstruct  enjoyment  at  tragic  emotions.  The 
conditions  must  now  be  enumerated,  under  which  com- 
passion is  demanded  and  the  pleasure  of  emotion  is 
most  infallibly  and  strongly  aroused. 

All  compassion  presupposes  representations  of  suf- 
fering, and  its  degree  of  intensity  depends  upon  their 
liveliness,  truth,  completeness  and  duration. 


324 


THE   TRAGIC  ART. 


1.  The  more  lively  the  representations  are,  the  more 
decisively  the  mind  is  invited  to  activity,  the  more  its 
sensuousness  is  attracted,  and  then  the  more  power- 
fully the  moral  ability  is  called  into  opposition.  But 
representations  of  suffering  may  subsist  in  two  dif- 
ferent ways,  which  are  not  equally  favorable  to  viva- 
city of  impression.  Sufferings  which  we  witness  affect 
us  more  strongly  than  those  of  which  we  first  make  ex- 
perience through  narration  or  description.  The  former 
abolish  the  free  play  of  our  imagination,  and  press  to 
our  hearts  by  the  shortest  route,  as  they  come  into  di- 
rect contact  with  our  sensuousness.  In  a  narration,  on 
the  contrary,  the  particular  is  first  elevated  to  the  uni- 
versal, from  which  it  is  afterward  cognized  ;  then  much 
strength  is  already  withdrawn  from  the  impression  by 
this  necessary  operation  of  the  intellect.  But  a  feebler 
impression  cannot  become  undisputed  master  of  the 
mind  ;  it  will  give  room  for  heterogeneous  representa- 
tions to  weaken  its  effect  and  to  distract  the  attention. 
The  exhibitory  narrative  also  transports  us  very  often 
from  the  mental  condition  of  the  persons  acting  into 
that  of  the  narrator,  which  interrupts  the  delusion  so 
necessary  for  creating  compassion.  As  often  as  the 
narrator  intrudes  in  his  own  person,  there  arises  a  ces- 
sation of  the  action,  and  also  one  unavoidably  in  our 
sympathizing  emotion  ;  this  occurs,  when  the  dramatic 
poet  forgets  himself  in  the  progress  of  his  dialogue, 
and  puts  observations  into  the  mouth  of  the  speaker, 
which  only  an  unconcerned  spectator  could  make. 
Hardly  one  of  our  modern  tragedies  is  free  from  this 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


325 


errof ;  yet  the  French  alone  have  exalted  it  to  a  rule. 
Direct,  living  presence  and  embodiment  are  necessary, 
then,  in  order  to  give  to  our  representations  of  suffering 
that  vigor,  which  is  requisite  to  produce  a  high  degree 
of  emotion. 

2.  But  we  can  receive  the  most  lively  impressions  of 
a  suffering,  without  being  brought  to  a  notable  degree 
of  compassion,  if  these  impressions  are  wanting  in 
truth.  We  must  create  for  ourselves  a  conception  of 
the  suffering  in  which  we  should  participate  ;  the  re- 
quisite for  this  is  its  agreement  with  something  which 
existed  previously  within  us.  That  is  to  say,  the  pos- 
sibility of  compassion  depends  upon  the  perception  or 
supposition  of  a  likeness  between  us  and  the  subject  of 
the  suffering.  Where  this  likeness  can  be  cognized, 
compassion  is  always  the  necessary  result :  where  it  is 
wanting,  compassion  is  impossible.  The  greater  and 
the  more  apparent  the  likeness,  the  more  lively  our 
compassion  is ;  the  less  considerable  the  former  is, 
the  weaker  the  latter  is.  If  we  would  feel  another's 
emotion  reproduced  in  ourselves,  we  must  have  all  the 
internal  conditions  for  such  an  emotion,  in  order  that 
the  external  causes  which  gave,  by  their  union,  origin 
to  another's  emotion,  may  also  exert  a  like  influence 
upon  us.  We  must  be  able,  without  doing  violence  to 
ourselves,  to  exchange  our  personality  with  him,  to 
transfer  for  the  moment  our  own  Me  into  his  condition. 
But  how  is  it  possible  for  us  to  have  perception  of  an- 
other's condition,  if  we  have  not  previously  found  our- 
selves in  this  other  person  ? 


326 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


This  likeness  covers  the  whole  mental  disposition, 
so  far  as  this  is  necessary  and  universal.  But  univer- 
sality and  necessity  are  the  special  characteristics  of 
our  moral  nature.  The  sensuous  ability  can  be  differ- 
ently determined  by  contingent  causes ;  even  our  cog- 
nitive faculty  is  dependent  upon  mutable  conditions ; 
our  morality  alone  rests  upon  itself,  and  is  therefore 
the  best  fitted  to  serve  as  a  safe  and  universal  measure 
of  this  likeness.  Then  we  call  that  representation  a 
true  one,  which  we  find  to  coincide  with  our  form  of 
thought  and  perception,  which  already  stands  in  a  cer- 
tain relationship  to  our  own  train  of  thought,  and  which 
our  mind  embraces  with  facility.  If  the  likeness 
touches  our  mental  peculiarity,  our  particular  deter- 
minations of  general  human  character,  which  may  be 
abstracted  without  detriment  to  this  general  character, 
then  that  representation  is  true  only  for  us.  But  if  it 
touches  the  universal  and  essential  Form  which  we  at- 
tribute to  the  whole  race,  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  object- 
ively true.  The  sentence  of  the  first  Brutus,  the  sui- 
cide of  Cato,  had  a  subjective  truth  for  the  Romans. 
The  representations  and  feelings  from  which  the  ac- 
tions of  both  those  men  resulted,  do  not  directly  flow 
from  an  universal  nature,  but  mediately  from  a  human 
nature  specially  defined.  In  order  to  share  these  feel- 
ings with  them,  we  must  possess  a  Roman  disposition, 
or  at  least  be  able  to  assume  it  for  a  moment.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  only  necessary  to  be  men,  in  order  to  be 
thrown  into  lofty  emotion  by  the  heroic  sacrifice  of  a 
Leonidas,  by  the  quiet  submission  of  an  Aristides,  by 


THE   TRAGIC  ART.  327 

the  voluntary  death  of  a  Socrates,  or  to  be  affected  to 
tears  by  the  terrible  reverse  of  a  Darius.  We  con- 
cede an  objective  truth  to  such  representations,  in  con- 
tradistinction to  the  former,  because  they  coincide  with 
subjective  nature,  and  thereby  maintain  an  universality 
and  necessity  just  as  severe  as  if  they  were  independent 
of  every  subjective  condition. 

Finally,  the  delineation  which  is  subjectively  true, 
is  not  to  be  confounded  with  arbitrary  determinations, 
because  it  rests  upon  those  that  are  contingent.  The 
subjectively  True  also  results  at  last  from  the  universal 
organization  of  the  human  mind,  which  was  specially 
defined  only  by  special  circumstances,  both  being  its 
necessary  conditions.  If  the  decision  of  Cato  could 
contradict  the  universal  laws  of  human  nature,  it  would 
no  longer  be  subjectively  true.  Representations  of  the 
latter  kind  have  a  narrower  sphere  of  operation,  only 
because  they  presuppose  other  determinations,  besides 
those  which  are  universal.  The  Tragic  Art  can  em- 
ploy them  with  greater  intensive  effect,  by  renouncing 
that  which  is  extensive :  still,  the  unconditioned  True, 
the  purely  human  in  human  relations,  will  constantly 
be  its  most  available  material,  because  therewith  the 
universality  of  impression  is  secured,  without  the  need 
of  resigning  its  strength. 

3.  After  liveliness  and  truth  in  tragic  delineations, 
the  third  requisite  is  completeness.  The  representa- 
tion must  exhaust  all  that  which  must  be  given  from 
without,  in  order  to  throw  the  mind  into  the  designed 
emotion.    If  a  spectator  with  disposition  ever  so  Ro- 


328  THE  TRAGIC  ART. 

man,  would  make  the  mental  condition  of  Cato  his 
own,  if  he  would  appropriate  the  last  decision  of  the 
republican,  he  must  find  this  decision  founded  not  only 
in  the  Roman's  soul,  but  also  in  his  circumstances : 
both  his  external  and  internal  situation  in  its  whole 
connection,  must  be  apparent  to  him,  and  no  single 
link  should  fail  in  the  chain  of  determinations,  with 
which  the  last  decision  of  the  Roman  is  necessarily 
connected.  The  truth  itself  of  a  delineation  is  not  gen- 
erally cognizable  without  this  completeness,  for  nothing 
but  the  similarity  of  circumstances,  which  we  must 
completely  penetrate,  can  justify  our  judgment  concern- 
ing the  similarity  of  perceptions;  because  the  emotion 
results  only  from  the  union  of  external  and  internal  con- 
ditions. If  we  are  to  decide  whether  we  would  have 
acted  as  Cato  did,  we  must  above  all  things  imagine 
ourselves  in  Cato's  whole  external  situation;  and  not 
till  then  are  we  competent  to  estimate  our  perceptions 
against  his  own,  to  plant  a  conclusion  upon  the  like- 
ness, and  to  pass  judgment  upon  its  truth. 

This  completeness  of  delineation  is  only  possible 
through  the  union  of  many  single  representations  and 
perceptions,  which  are  related  to  each  other  as  cause 
and  effect,  and,  by  combination,  complete  a  totality  for 
our  cognition.  If  these  representations  would  strongly 
move  us,  they  must  all  make  a  direct  impression  upon 
our  sensuousness,  and  be  induced  by  a  manifested  action, 
since  the  narrative  form  always  weakens  this  impres- 
sion. Then  completeness  of  tragic  delineation  depends 
upon  a  series  of  single,  embodied  actions,  which  league 
themselves  with  the  tragic  action  as  with  a  whole. 


THE  TRAGIC  ART.  329 

4.  Finally,  the  representations  of  suffering  must 
have  a  prolonged  effect  upon  us,  if  they  would  excite  a 
high  degree  of  emotion.  We  find  the  emotion  into 
which  a  foreign  suffering  transports  us,  to  be  a  condi- 
tion of  constraint,  from  which  we  hasten  to  liberate 
ourselves  ;  and  the  delusion  which  is  so  intolerable  for 
compassion  vanishes  with  too  much  facility.  Then  the 
mind  must  be  forcibly  bound  to  these  representations, 
and  be  deprived  of  the  liberty  of  prematurely  disengag- 
ing itself  from  the  delusion.  Vivacity  of  the  represen- 
tations and  strength  of  the  impressions  which  infringe 
upon  our  sensuousness,  are  inadequate  for  this  purpose  : 
for  the  more  violently  the  susceptiveness  is  attracted, 
the  more  vigorously  does  the  soul's  reacting  power  ex- 
ert itself  to  overcome  the  impression.  But  the  poet 
who  would  move  us  need  not  weaken  this  spontaneous 
power  ;  for  the  lofty  enjoyment  which  tragic  emotions 
secure  to  us,  lies  in  the  conflict  itself  with  the  suffering 
sensuousness.  Then  if  the  mind,  regardless  of  its  re- 
sisting spontaneity,  would  remain  attached  to  the  per- 
ceptions of  suffering,  they  must  sustain  a  skilful,  peri- 
odic interruption,  and  even  be  relieved  by  antago- 
nistic perceptions  —  in  order  to  recur  with  augmented 
strength,  and  renew  the  oftener  the  vivacity  of  the  first 
impression.  The  alternation  of  perceptions  is  the  most 
powerful  remedy  of  weariness  and  the  effect  of  habi- 
tude. This  alternation  refreshes  the  exhausted  sensu- 
ousness, and  the  gradation  of  the  impressions  excites 
the  spontaneity  to  a  proportional  resistance.  It  must 
be  incessantly  employed  in  maintaining  its  freedom 


330  THE  TRAGIC  ART. 

against  the  stress  of  sensuousness,  but  not  so  as  to  gain 
the  victory  before  the  climax,  still  less  to  succumb  in 
the  struggle  :  else  the  suffering  is  at  an  end  in  the  first 
case,  and  the  activity  in  the  second,  while  emotion  can 
only  be  excited  by  the  union  of  both.  The  great  secret 
of  the  Tragic  Art  lies  in  the  dexterous  management  of 
this  conflict ;  it  there  displays  itself  in  its  most  brilliant 
light. 

This  purpose  makes  necessary  a  series  of  alternating 
representations,  with  an  appropriate  combination  of 
many  actions  corresponding  to  these  representations, 
on  which  the  main  action,  and,  through  that,  the  de- 
signed tragic  impression,  winds  off  completely,  like  a 
clew  from  the  spindle,  and  envelops  the  mind  at  last  as 
with  an  unyielding  net.  The  artist,  if  the  figure  is 
here  allowable,  first  gathers  thriftily  all  the  single  rays 
of  the  object  which  he  makes  the  instrument  of  his 
tragic  design,  and  beneath  his  hands  they  become  as 
lightning,  which  inflames  all  hearts.  If  the  tyro  hurls 
at  once  and  fruitlessly  the  whole  thunderbolt  of  horror 
and  of  fear,  the  artist  attains  his  purpose  step  by  step, 
by  little  strokes,  and  penetrates  the  soul  completely, 
just  because  he  moved  it  gently  and  by  degrees. 

If  now  we  draw  results  from  the  previous  investiga- 
tions, we  have  the  following  conditions,  which  lie  at 
the  foundation  of  tragic  emotion.  First,  the  object  of 
our  compassion  must  belong  to  our  genus,  in  the  entire 
sense  of  this  word,  and  the  action  in  which  we  are  to 
participate  must  be  a  moral  one,  that  is,  it  must  be 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


331 


comprehended  within  the  province  of  freedom.  Se- 
cond, the  suffering,  its  sources  and  its  degrees,  must  be 
entirely  communicated  to  us  in  a  succession  of  com- 
bined events;  and  moreover,  in  the  third  place,  it  must 
be  objectively  presented,  not  set  forth  mediately  through 
description,  but  directly  through  action.  Art  unites  and 
fulfils  all  these  conditions  in  tragedy. 

Accordingly  Tragedy  would  be  poetic  imitation  of  a 
consistent  series  of  events  (a  complete  action),  which 
shows  us  men  in  a  condition  of  suffering,  and  whose 
design  is  the  excitement  of  our  compassion. 

It  is  firstly,  imitation  of  an  action  :  and  is  dis- 
tinguished from  the  other  kinds  of  composition  which 
only  narrate  or  describe,  by  the  conception  of  imita- 
tion. In  tragedies,  single  events  at  the  moment  of 
their  occurrence  are  represented  as  present,  before  the 
imagination  or  before  the  sense  ;  and  directly  present 
without  the  mediation  of  a  third  power.  The  epic, 
the  romance,  the  simple  narration  remove  the  action 
into  the  distance,  by  means  of  their  Form,  because 
they  interpose  the  narrator  between  the  acting  per- 
sons and  the  reader.  But  the  past,  the  remote  weak- 
ens, as  we  know,  the  impression  and  the  emotion  of 
sympathy  :  the  present  strengthens  it.  All  narrative 
forms  convert  the  present  into  the  past :  all  dramatic 
forms  make  the  past  to  be  present. 

Secondly,  Tragedy  is  imitation  of  a  series  of  events, 
of  an  action.  It  is  an  imitative  representation  not 
only  of  the  perceptions  and  emotions  of  tragic  per- 
sons, but  of  the  events  from  which  they  sprang,  and 


332 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


which  occasioned  their  development :  this  distinguishes 
it  from  lyrical  composition,  which,  it  is  true,  likewise 
gives  poetic  imitations  of  certain  mental  conditions,  but 
not  of  actions.  An  elegy,  a  song,  an  ode,  can  set  forth 
in  imitation  the  present  mental  state  of  the  poet, 
(whether  in  his  own  or  in  an  ideal  person)  as  condi- 
tioned by  special  circumstances,  and  in  so  far  they  are 
certainly  comprehended  under  the  conception  of  Trag- 
edy ;  but  they  do  not  entirely  satisfy  its  conditions, 
because  they  are  restricted  to  representations  of  feel- 
ings alone.  Other  essential  distinctions  lie  in  the  dif- 
ferent design  of  these  modes  of  composition. 

Thirdly,  Tragedy  is  imitation  of  a  complete  action. 
A  single  occurrence,  however  tragic  it  may  be,  gives 
as  yet  no  Tragedy.  Many  events,  mutually  sustained 
as  cause  and  effect,  must  unite  themselves  appropriately 
into  a  whole,  if  truth  —  that  is,  the  unison  of  a  repre- 
sented emotion,  character,  and  the  like,  with  the  na- 
ture of  our  own  souls,  which  is  the  only  ground  of 
compassion,  —  would  be  cognized.  If  we  do  not  feel 
that  we  ourselves  would  have  suffered  and  acted  in  the 
same  way,  under  like  circumstances,  our  sympathy 
continues  dormant.  Then  it  is  necessary  that  we 
should  pursue  the  represented  action  through  its  whole 
continuity,  and  see  it  result  from  the  soul  of  its  origina- 
tor by  a  natural  gradation,  during  the  joint  operation 
of  external  circumstances.  Such  is  the  rise,  progress 
and  completion,  before  our  eyes,  of  the  curiosity  of 
CEdipus,  the  jealousy  of  Othello.  And  in  this  way 
alone  can  the  great  gulf  be  filled,  which  exists  between 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


333 


the  peace  of  an  innocent  soul  and  the  conscience-pangs 
of  a  criminal,  between  a  fortunate  man's  proud  security 
and  his  fearful  ruin,  —  in  short,  the  gulf  between  the 
tranquil  state  of  a  reader's  mind  at  the  commencement 
of  an  action,  and  the  stormy  excitement  of  his  feelings 
at  its  close. 

A  series  of  many  cohering  incidents  is  demanded,  to 
excite  within  us  an  alternation  of  mental  emotions, 
which  preserves  the  attention,  calls  forth  all  our  spirit- 
ual ability,  enlivens  the  nagging  impulse  for  action, 
and  inflames  it  all  the  more  by  postponing  the  final  sat- 
isfaction. The  mind  finds  aid  against  the  suffering  of 
sensuousness  nowhere  but  in  the  moral  sense.  Then 
in  order  to  summon  the  latter  more  pressingly,  the 
tragic  artist  must  prolong  the  torments  of  the  former, 
but  at  the  same  time  offering  to  it  periodic  alleviations 
in  order  to  make  the  triumph  of  the  moral  sense  more 
difficult  and  signal.  This  double  process  is  only  pos- 
sible by  means  of  a  series  of  actions,  which  are  judi- 
ciously chosen  and  united  for  that  purpose. 

Fourthly,  Tragedy  is  poetic  imitation  of  a  compas- 
sionable  action,  and  thus  differs  from  historic  imitation. 
It  would  be  the  latter,  if  it  pursued  a  historic  design,  if 
it  sought  to  give  instruction  concerning  occurrences 
and  the  manner  of  their  occurrence.  In  this  case  it 
would  be  obliged  to  confine  itself  entirely  to  historic 
correctness,  for  its  object  would  be  defeated  without  a 
true  representation  of  actual  events.  But  Tragedy  has 
a  poetic  design,  that  is,  it  represents  an  action  in  order 
to  move,  and  to  delight  by  the  emotion.    Then  if  it 


334 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


employs  a  given  material  in  conformity  with  this  its  de- 
sign, it  possesses  freedom  in  imitation  :  it  contains  the 
power,  and  even  the  obligation,  to  subordinate  historic 
truth  to  the  laws  of  poetry,  and  to  elaborate  the  given 
material  according  to  its  requisitions.  But  as  it  is 
prepared  to  attain  its  design,  which  is  emotion,  only 
under  the  condition  of  the  greatest  harmony  with  the 
laws  of  Nature,  it  stands,  without  detriment  to  its  his- 
toric freedom,  under  the  rigorous  law  of  natural  truth, 
which  is  called  poetic  truth  in  contradistinction  from 
that  which  is  historic.  Thus  it  is  plain  in  what  way 
poetic  truth  may  often  suffer  from  a  severe  regard  for 
historic  truth,  and  inversely,  how  poetic  truth  may  gain 
so  much  the  more  by  a  stupid  violation  of  historic 
truth.  As  the  tragic  poet,  and  generally  every  poet,  is 
only  subject  to  the  law  of  poetic  truth,  the  most  scru- 
pulous regard  for  historic  truth  can  never  absolve  him 
from  his  obligation  as  a  poet,  can  never  serve  to  excuse 
a  transgression  of  poetic  truth,  or  a  deficiency  of  inter- 
est. Hence  it  betrays  very  narrow  conceptions  of  the 
Tragic  Art,  and  of  composition  in  general,  to  drag  the 
tragic  poet  before  the  tribunal  of  History,  and  to  de- 
mand instruction  from  him,  who  already  by  virtue  of 
his  name  is  pledged  for  emotion  and  delight  alone. 
Then  even  if  the  poet  himself  should  have  surrendered 
his  artistic  privilege  by  an  anxious  submission  to  his- 
toric truth,  thus  silently  admitting  the  jurisdiction  of 
History  over  his  product,  Art  rightfully  summons  him 
before  its  tribunal  :  and  if  a  Death  of  Herrmann,  a 
Minona,  a  Fust  von  Stromberg,  cannot  abide  the  in- 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


335 


vestigation,  they  must  be  considered  very  moderate 
tragedies,  with  ever  so  much  punctilious  attention  to 
costume,  and  to  the  character  of  the  age  and  people. 

Fifthly,  Tragedy  is  imitation  of  an  action  which 
shows  us  men  in  the  condition  of  suffering.  The  ex- 
pression, men,  is  nothing  less  than  superfluous,  and 
only  serves  to  denote  accurately  the  limits  within  which 
Tragedy  is  confined  in  its  choice  of  objects.  Our  sym- 
pathy can  be  aroused  only  by  the  suffering  of  sensuo- 
moral  beings,  like  ourselves.  Then  beings  which  are 
discharged  from  all  the  restraints  of  morality  —  as  evil 
spirits  are  figured  in  popular  superstition  or  in  the 
poet's  imagination  —  and  men,  who  are  like  them, — 
also  beings  who  are  free  from  the  constraint  of  sensu- 
ousness,  as  we  imagine  pure  intelligences  to  be,  and 
men,  who  have  withdrawn  themselves  from  this  con- 
straint to  a  greater  extent  than  human  weakness  allows 
—  all  these  are  equally  worthless  for  the  purposes  of 
Tragedy.  In  general  the  conception  of  suffering,  and 
of  a  suffering  in  which  we  should  participate,  al- 
ready determines  that  only  men,  in  the  full  sense  of 
the  word,  can  be  the  objects  of  it.  A  pure  intelli- 
gence cannot  suffer,  and  a  human  subject  who  ap- 
proximates in  an  unusual  degree  to  this  pure  intelli- 
gence, can  never  excite  a  great  amount  of  pathos,  be- 
cause his  moral  nature  affords  a  too  prompt  protection 
against  the  suffering  of  a  weak  sensuousness.  An  en- 
tirely sensuous  subject,  without  morality,  and  such  na- 
tures as  approach  that  state,  are  certainly  capable  of 
the  most  fearful  degree  of  suffering,  because  their  sen- 


336 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


suousness  has  a  preponderating  influence,  but,  being 
sustained  by  no  moral  feeling,  they  become  a  prey  to 
this  pain  :  and  we  turn  away  with  displeasure  and  aver- 
sion from  a  suffering  which  is  entirely  helpless  from  an 
absolute  inactivity  of  the  reason.  Then  the  tragic  poet 
justly  gives  the  preference  to  mixed  characters,  and  his 
heroic  ideal  lies  at  a  point  equidistant  from  the  aban- 
doned and  the  perfect. 

Finally,  Tragedy  combines  all  these  qualities,  in 
order  to  arouse  the  emotion  of  sympathy.  Many  of  the 
regulations  which  the  tragic  poet  makes,  are  equally 
applicable  to  another  design,  as  for  instance,  one  that 
is  moral  or  historical ;  but  that  he  intends  precisely 
the  tragic  design  and  no  other,  frees  him  from  all  de- 
mands which  do  not  coincide  with  it,  but  at  the  same 
time  obliges  him  to  conform  to  this  latter  design,  in 
every  special  application  of  the  above  established  rules. 

The  final  ground,  to  which  all  rules  for  a  definite 
mode  of  composition  relate,  is  called  the  design  of  this 
mode :  the  combination  of  means  whereby  a  mode  of 
composition  attains  its  design,  is  called  its  Form. 
Then  Design  and  Form  stand  to  each  other  in  the 
closest  relation.  The  latter  is  determined,  and  pre- 
scribed as  necessary,  by  the  former ;  and  the  fulfilled 
design  will  be  the  result  of  a  felicitously  regarded 
form. 

As  every  mode  of  composition  pursues  a  design  pe- 
culiar to  itself,  it  will  therefore  be  distinguished  from 
other  modes  by  a  peculiar  form,  for  the  form  is  the  me- 
dium through  which  it  attains  its  design.    That  which 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


337 


it  performs  distinctively,  it  must  perform  by  virtue  of 
its  distinctive  quality.  The  design  of  Tragedy  is, 
Emotion ;  its  form,  imitation  of  an  action  inducing 
suffering.  Many  modes  of  composition  can  have,  in 
common  with  Tragedy,  the  same  action  for  its  object. 
Many  modes  can  pursue  that  which  is  the  design  of 
Tragedy,  Emotion,  although  not  as  their  main  design. 
Then  that  which  is  distinctive  in  Tragedy  consists  in 
the  relation  of  the  form  to  the  design,  that  is,  in  the 
manner  in  which  it  uses  its  object  with  respect  to  its 
design,  the  way  in  which  it  attains  its  design  through 
its  object. 

If  it  is  the  design  of  Tragedy  to  excite  compassion- 
ate emotion,  but  if  its  form  is  the  medium  through 
which  it  attains  this  design,  imitation  of  a  moving  ac- 
tion must  be  the  continent  (Inbegriff)  of  all  the  con- 
ditions under  which  the  compassionating  emotion  is 
most  strongly  excited. 

The  product  of  a  mode  of  composition  is  complete, 
in  which  the  form  peculiar  to  this  mode  has  been  used 
in  the  best  way  for  the  attainment  of  its  design.  Then 
a  Tragedy  is  complete,  in  which  the  tragic  form,  that 
is,  the  imitation  of  a  moving  action,  has  been  made 
most  available  for  the  excitement  of  compassionate 
emotion.  Those  Tragedies,  then,  will  be  the  most 
complete,  in  which  the  excited  sympathy  is  less  the 
effect  of  the  Matter  than  of  the  best  employed  tragic 
Form.    We  may  regard  this  as  the  ideal  of  Tragedy. 

Many  tragedies,  in  other  respects  full  of  lofty  poetic 
beauty,  are  dramatically  faulty,  because  they  do  not 
22 


338 


THE  TRAGIC  ART. 


seek  to  attain  the  design  of  Tragedy  by  the  best  appli- 
cation of  tragic  form  :  and  others  are  so,  because  they 
attain  by  the  tragic  form  a  design  other  tharr^tbat  of 
Tragedy.  Not  a  few  of  our  most  admired  pieces  affect 
us  solely  on  account  of  the  Matter,  and  we  are  suffi- 
ciently generous  or  careless,  to  attribute  to  the  bung- 
ling artist  as  a  mer  it  this  property  of  the  material.  With 
respect  to  other  pieces  we  seem  to  forget  entirely  the 
purpose  for  which  the  poet  has  collected  us  together  in 
the  theatre;  and  content  to  be  agreeably  entertained 
by  the  brilliant  play  of  imagination  and  wit,  we  never 
observe  that  we  leave  it  with  untouched  hearts.  Should 
venerable  Art,  (for  such  is  that  which  speaks  to  the 
divinity  within  us)  commit  its  case  to  such  arbiters 
through  such  champions  ?  Mediocrity  alone  is  inspired 
by  the  contentment  of  the  public,  but  genius  is  dis- 
couraged and  disgraced 


THE 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


PREFACE. 

The  reason,  like  the  heart,  has  its  epochs  and  its 
destinies,  but  its  history  is  more  rarely  developed.  We 
seem  to  be  satisfied  with  developing  the  passions  in 
their  extremes,  aberrations  and  consequences,  without 
regarding  their  intimate  connection  with  the  thought- 
system  of  the  individual.  The  universal  root  of  moral 
depravity  is  a  partial  and  fluctuating  philosophy,  so 
much  the  more  dangerous,  since  it  deceives  the  De- 
misted reason  with  a  show  of  legality,  truth  and  con- 
viction, and  is  therefore  less  under  the  restraint  of  a 
native  moral  sentiment.  On  the  contrary,  an  enlight- 
ened understanding  elevates  even  the  sentiments  —  the 
head  must  fashion  the  heart. 

In  an  epoch  like  the  present,  when  the  simplification 
and  diffusion  of  reading  have  so  wonderfully  increased 
the  thinking  community,  when  the  blissful  resignation 


342 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


of  ignorance  begins  to  give  way  to  a  dawning  improve- 
ment, and  only  a  few  are  willing  to  remain  stationary 
where  the  accidents  of  birth  have  cast  them,  it  appears 
to  be  not  entirely  unimportant  to  watch  the  roused  and 
progressive  reason  in  certain  crises,  to  adjust  certain 
truths  and  errors  which  insinuate  themselves  into  mor- 
als, and  may  be  respectively  the  source  of  happiness 
and  misery,  —  and  at  least,  to  point  out  the  hidden 
rocks  upon  which  the  proud  reason  has  so  often  suf- 
fered shipwreck.  We  seldom  arrive  at  truth  except 
through  extremes  ;  we  must  first  exhaust  error  —  and 
often  madness — before  we  can  attain  the  radiant  goal 
of  peaceful  wisdom. 

A  few  friends,  animated  with  a  like  ardor  for  truth 
and  moral  beauty,  who  have  arrived  at  the  same  per- 
suasion from  very  different  routes,  and  now  view  the 
travelled  path  with  tranquil  looks,  have  united  in  a  pro- 
ject to  unfold  some  revolutions  and  epochs  of  thought, 
some  excesses  of  the  speculative  understanding :  and 
under  the  fiction  of  two  young  men  of  unequal  charac- 
ters, to  give  them  to  the  world  in  the  form  of  a  corres- 
pondence. The  following  letters  are  the  commence- 
ment of  this  experiment. 

Thus  opinions  which  are  set  forth  in  these  letters,  can 
only  be  relatively  true  or  false,  according  as  the  world 
is  reflected  in  either  soul,  and  in  no  other.  The  pro- 
gress of  the  correspondence  will  demonstrate,  how  these 
partial,  often  exaggerated,  often  contradictory  assertions, 
will  resolve  themselves  finally  into  a  universal,  refined 
and  steadfast  form  of  truth. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


343 


Skepticism  and  free-thinking  are  the  fever-paroxysms 
of  the  human  spirit,  and,  even  by  the  unnatural  con- 
vulsions which  they  cause  in  well  organized  minds, 
must  at  last  promote  established  health.  The  more 
dazzling  and  seducing  the  error,  the  greater  triumph 
for  the  truth  ;  the  more  torturing  the  doubt,  the  greater 
the  summons  to  conviction  and  settled  certainty.  But 
it  is  necessary  to  expose  this  doubt,  this  error ;  know- 
ledge of  the  disease  must  precede  the  cure.  If  an  im- 
petuous youth  fails  to  discern  the  truth,  it  loses  as  little 
as  virtue  and  religion,  when  the  vicious  disown  them. 

These  previous  remarks  were  necessary,  in  order  to 
specify  the  point  of  view,  from  which  we  wish  the  fol- 
lowing correspondence  to  be  read  and  judged. 


344 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


JULIUS  TO  RAPHAEL. 

In  October. 

You  have  left  me,  Raphael,  and  fair  Nature  disap- 
pears—  the  leaves  fall  yellow  from  the  trees,  and  a  sad 
Autumn-mist  settles  like  a  pall  over  the  exhausted 
fields.  I  wander  solitary  through  the  melancholy  coun- 
try, calling  loudly  upon  your  name,  and  am  vexed  that 
my  Raphael  does  not  answer  me. 

I  had  endured  your  last  embraces.  The  mournful 
rattling  of  the  carriage  which  bore  you  hence,  at  length 
had  died  away.  I,  so  happy,  had  already  raised  a  be- 
neficent hillock  over  the  joys  of  the  past,  but  now  you 
stand  anew  in  these  scenes,  like  a  departed  spirit,  and 
are  present  with  me  again  in  each  favorite  spot  of  our 
rambles.  I  have  climbed  these  rocks  by  your  side, 
and  wandered  through  this  boundless  field  of  vision. 
In  the  dim  sanctuary  of  these  beech  trees  we  first  con- 
ceived the  bold  ideal  of  our  friendship.  It  was  here 
that  we  first  opened  the  ancestral  tables  of  the  spirit, 
and  Julius  found  in  Raphael  so  near  a  kinsman.  There 
is  no  fountain,  no  thicket,  no  hill,  where  a  memory  of 
vanished  bliss  does  not  ever  dash  athwart  my  peace. 
All,  all  has  conspired  against  my  recovery ;  for  wher- 
ever I  tread,  I  recall  the  sad  scene  of  our  separation. 

What  have  you  created  me,  Raphael?  What  so 
lately  has  become  of  me!    Great,  dangerous  man, 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


345 


would  that  I  had  never  known  you,  or  never  lost  you  ! 
Hasten  back  upon  the  wings  of  love,  return,  or  the 
tender  shoot  of  your  planting  is  gone.  Can  your  mild 
spirit  venture  to  leave  your  attempted  work  so  far  from 
its  completion.  The  ground-pillars  of  your  proud  wis- 
dom totter  in  my  brain  and  heart,  all  the  splendid  pal- 
aces built  by  you,  fall  prostrate,  and  the  bruised  worm 
writhes  sorrowfully  among  the  ruins. 

Happy  Eden-time,  when  with  blindfold  eyes  I  reeled 
through  life,  like  one  drunken  —  when  every  curiosity 
and  wish  were  bounded  by  the  paternal  horizon  — 
when  a  clear  sunset  portended  for  me  nothing  loftier 
than  a  fair  auroral  morrow  —  when  only  a  gazette  ad- 
monished me  of  the  world,  only  the  death-knell,  of 
eternity,  only  spectre  tales,  of  an  account  beyond  the 
grave  —  when  I  still  quailed  before  a  spirit  of  Evil  and 
clung  the  more  affectionately  to  the  Divinity.  I  felt 
and  was  happy.  Raphael  has  taught  me  to  think,  and 
I  am  in  the  path  to  lament  my  creation. 

Creation  1  —  That  is  only  a  sound  without  sense, 
which  my  reason  cannot  admit.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  was  conscious  of  nothing,  when  none  were  con- 
scious of  me  5  so  we  say,  I  was  not.  That  time  is  no 
more,  and  so  we  say  that  I  am  created.  But  we  know 
nothing  more  of  the  millions  who  have  appeared  for 
centuries,  and  yet  we  say  they  are.  On  what  do  we 
ground  the  right  to  affirm  a  beginning  and  deny  an 
end  ?  We  maintain  that  the  cessation  of  spiritual  exist- 
ence contradicts  the  infinite  goodness.  Then  did  this 
infinite  goodness  first  originate  with  the  creation  of 


346 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


the  world  ?  If  there  has  been  a  period  when  spirits  did 
not  exist,  was  the  infinite  goodness,  even  a  whole  pre- 
vious eternity,  ineffective  ?  If  the  fabric  of  the  world 
is  a  perfection  of  the  Creator,  was  his  perfection  in- 
complete before  the  world's  creation  ?  But  such  a  pre- 
sumption contradicts  the  idea  of  the  perfected  God,  then 
were  there  no  creation — whither,  Raphael,  have  I 
reasoned  myself  ?  Fearful  labyrinth  of  my  conclu- 
sions !  I  reject  the  Creator,  as  soon  as  I  believe  in  a 
God.  Then  wherefore  do  I  need  a  God,  if  I  suffice 
without  a  Creator  ? 

You  have  stolen  the  belief  which  gave  me  joy.  You 
have  taught  me  to  despise,  where  once  I  worshipped. 
A  thousand  things  were  so  venerable  to  me,  before 
your  gloomy  wisdom  exposed  them.  I  saw  a  throng 
press  church-ward,  I  heard  their  inspired  devotion 
unite  in  fraternal  worship  —  twice  I  stood  by  the  bed 
of  death,  twice  saw  —  the  mighty  miracle  of  religion, 
the  hope  of  heaven  victorious  over  the  terrors  of  anni- 
hilation, and  the  fresh  beams  of  joy  kindling  in  the  dim 
eye  of  the  dying. 

Divine,  yes  divine  must  the  doctrine  be,  I  cried, 
which  the  best  of  men  acknowledge,  which  conquers  so 
mightily,  and  so  wonderfully  consoles.  Your  cold  wis- 
dom quenched  my  enthusiasm.  For  you  said  to  me, 
just  as  many  once  thronged  around  the  hermae  and  the 
temples  of  Jupiter,  just  as  many  have  as  cheerfully 
mounted  their  funeral-pile  in  honor  of  their  Brahma. 
Shall  that  which  you  find  so  odious  in  paganism,  prove 
the  divinity  of  your  doctrine  ? 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


347 


Believe  nothing  but  your  own  reason,  you  continued. 
There  is  nothing  holy  but  truth.  What  the  reason  re- 
cognizes, is  truth.  I  obeyed  you,  sacrificed  all  iny 
opinions,  fired,  like  that  desperate  conqueror,  all  my 
ships,  when  I  landed  on  this  island,  and  destroyed  all 
hopes  of  retreat.  I  can  no  longer  be  reconciled  with 
an  opinion  which  I  once  derided.  My  reason  is  now 
all  to  me,  my  only  guarantee  for  divinity,  virtue,  im- 
mortality. Woe  to  me  henceforth,  if  I  find  this  to  be 
only  a  surety  for  denial,  if  my  veneration  sinks  before 
its  conclusions,  if  a  shattered  brain-thread  agitates  its 
operations.  Henceforth  my  happiness  depends  upon 
the  harmonious  action  of  the  sensorium.  Woe  to  me, 
if  the  strings  of  this  instrument  give  an  uncertain  sound 
in  the  critical  periods  of  my  existence  —  if  my  convic- 
tions flutter  with  my  pulsations  ! 


JULIUS  TO  RAPHAEL. 


Your  doctrine  has  flattered  my  pride.  I  was  a 
prisoner  —  you  have  led  me  forth  to  the  day  ;  the 
golden  light  and  the  illimitable  expanse  have  delighted 
my  eyes.  Hitherto  I  was  content  with  the  modest  fame 
of  being  called  a  good  son  of  my  family,  a  friend  of  my 
friends,  a  useful  member  of  society ;  you  have  changed 
me  into  a  citizen  of  the  universe.    My  desires  had 


348 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


made  yet  no  inroad  upon  the  rights  of  the  great.  I 
tolerated  the  fortunate,  since  beggars  tolerated  me. 
I  blushed  not  to  envy  one  part  of  humanity,  since  a 
still  greater  part  remained  for  me  to  pity.  Now  I 
learned  for  the  first  time,  that  my  claim  to  enjoyment 
was  as  weighty  as  that  of  my  brethren.  Now  I  per- 
ceived that  I  appropriated  a  portion  of  atmosphere  no 
greater  or  less,  than  the  lords  of  the  earth.  Raphael 
severed  every  bond  of  conformity  and  opinion.  I  felt 
myself  entirely  free ;  for  the  reason,  said  Raphael  to  me, 
is  the  only  monarchy  in  the  world  of  spirit ;  I  bore  my 
imperial  throne  in  my  brain.  All  things  in  heaven  and 
on  earth,  have  no  value,  no  estimation,  beyond  that 
conceded  by  the  reason.  The  whole  creation  is  mine, 
for  I  possess  an  indisputable  authority  to  enjoy  it  fully. 
All  spirits  —  one  degree  lower  than  the  Infinite  Spirit 

—  are  my  peers,  since  we  all  obey  one  principle,  do 
homage  to  one  sovereign. 

How  elevated  and  magnificent  sounds  this  annuncia- 
tion !    What  store  for  my  thirst  after  knowledge  !  But 

—  unhappy  contradiction  of  Nature  —  this  free,  aspir- 
ing spirit  is  wound  into  the  inflexible,  immutable  clock- 
work of  a  mortal  body,  embroiled  with  its  little  wants, 
yoked  to  its  petty  destinies,  —  this  god  is  banished  to  a 
world  of  worms.  The  vast  space  of  Nature  is  open  to 
his  activity,  but  he  may  not  entertain  two  ideas  at  once. 
His  eyes  bear  him  to  the  porch-lamp  of  divinity,  but  he 
himself  must  slowly  and  painfully  creep  towards  it 
through  the  elements  of  time.  To  exhaust  one  enjoy- 
ment he  must  renounce  all  others ;  two  unlimited  de- 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


349 


sires  are  too  great  for  his  narrow  heart.  Each  newly 
acquired  joy  costs  him  the  sum  of  all  the  former  ones, 
and  the  present  moment  is  the  sepulchre  of  all  the  past. 
A  lover's  hour  is  a  pulsation  deducted  from  friendship. 

Wherever  I  look,  Raphael,  how  confined  is  man ! 
How  great  the  distance  between  his  pretensions  and 
their  fulfilment  !  How  enviable  his  beneficent  slumber 
—  wake  him  not !  He  is  so  happy  till  he  begins  to 
ask,  whither  he  must  go,  and  whence  he  came.  Rea- 
son is  a  torch  in  a  dungeon.  The  prisoner  knew  no- 
thing of  the  light,  but  a  dream  of  freedom  gleamed  over 
him,  like  a  flash  in  the  night,  which  leaves  it  all  the 
darker.  Our  philosophy  is  the  unfortunate  curiosity 
of  CEdipus,  who  never  ceased  to  inquire,  till  the  hide- 
ous oracle  solved  itself: 

"  Who  and  whence  art  thou,  never  canst  thou  know !  " 

Does  your  wisdom  recompense  me  for  that  of  which 
it  has  deprived  me  ?  If  you  had  no  key  to  heaven,  why 
should  you  have  forced  me  from  the  earth  ?  If  you 
knew  beforehand,  that  the  way  to  wisdom  led  through 
the  frightful  defiles  of  doubt,  why  did  you  hazard  the 
innocent  peace  of  your  Julius  upon  this  doubtful  cast  ? 

 If  something  bad 

Is  lying  all  too  near  upon  the  Good 
Which  I  had  thought  to  do,  I  fain  forbear 
To  do  the  Good. 

You  have  torn  down  a  hut  that  was  inhabited,  and  have 
founded  on  the  place  a  splendid  palace  of  the  dead. 


350  PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 

Raphael,  I  demand  my  soul  from  you.  I  am  not 
happy.  My  courage  has  gone,  and  I  distrust  my  own 
powers.  Write  to  me  quickly  !  Only  your  healing 
hand  can  pour  balm  into  my  burning  wound. 


RAPHAEL  TO  JULIUS. 

Happiness  like  ours,  Julius,  without  interruption, 
would  be  too  much  for  a  human  lot.  This  thought  of- 
ten haunted  me  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  our  friendship. 
What  then  embittered  my  bliss,  was  a  wholesome  pre- 
paration to  alleviate  my  present  condition.  Having 
been  tempered  in  the  stern  school  of  resignation,  I  am 
more  alive  to  the  consolation  of  seeing  in  our  separa- 
tion an  easy  sacrifice,  wherewith  to  compensate  destiny 
for  the  joys  of  a  future  union.  You  never  knew  till 
now,  what  renunciation  is.  For  the  first  time  you 
suffer. 

And  yet  perhaps  it  is  for  your  benefit  that  I  am  just 
now  torn  from  your  side.  You  are  afflicted  with  a  dis- 
ease, from  which,  in  order  to  be  secure  from  a  relapse, 
you  can  only  recover  of  yourself.  The  more  forsaken 
you  feel,  the  more  you  will  call  into  requisition  every 
remedy  within  yourself ;  the  less  immediate  alleviation 
you  receive  from  deceitful  palliatives,  the  more  surely 
you  will  succeed  in  totally  eradicating  the  evil. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


351 


I  do  not  repent  of  having  roused  you  from  your  sweet 
dream,  although  your  present  condition  is  painful.  I 
have  done  nothing  but  hasten  a  crisis,  which  sooner  or 
later  infallibly  occurs  to  such  souls  as  your  own,  while 
everything  depends  upon  the  period  of  life  in  which  it 
is  endured.  There  are  situations  in  which  it  is  fearful 
to  despair  of  truth  and  virtue.  Woe  to  him,  who  has 
to  contend  with  the  subtilties  of  a  refining  reason,  while 
still  under  the  dominion  of  passion.  I  have  fully  ex- 
perienced what  that  is,  and  to  guard  you  from  such  a  fate, 
nothing  remained  for  me  but  to  render  this  unavoidable 
contagion  harmless  by  inoculation. 

And  what  more  favorable  moment  could  I  choose  for 
it,  Julius  ?  You  stood  before  me  in  the  full  vigor  of 
youth,  body  and  spirit  in  the  lordliest  prime,  oppressed 
by  no  cares,  fettered  by  no  passion,  free  and  strong,  to 
meet  the  great  conflict  whose  reward  is  the  noble  calm 
of  conviction.  Truth  and  error  were  not  yet  woven 
into  your  interests.  Your  enjoyments  and  virtues  were 
independent  of  both.  You  needed  no  bug-bear  to  warn 
you  from  low  excesses.  A  taste  for  nobler  pleasures 
had  made  them  odious  to  you.  You  were  good  from  in- 
stinct, from  unpolluted  moral  grace.  I  had  nothing  to 
fear  for  your  morality,  if  a  structure  fell,  on  which  it 
was  not  founded.  And  so  your  misgivings  do  not 
alarm  me.  I  know  you  too  well,  Julius,  whatever  a 
melancholy  humor  may  suggest  to  you  ! 

Ungrateful  man!  You  slander  reason,  you  forget 
what  joys  it  has  already  afforded  you.  Even  if  you 
could  have  avoided  during  life  the  perils  of  skepticism, 


352 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


it  would  have  been  my  duty  not  to  have  withheld  en- 
joyments from  you,  of  which  you  were  capable  and  de- 
serving. The  point  on  which  you  stood  was  not  wor- 
thy of  you.  The  path,  up  which  you  toiled,  compen- 
sated you  for  all  of  which  I  deprived  you.  I  remember 
with  what  transport  you  blessed  the  moment  when  the 
scales  fell  from  your  eyes.  And  perhaps  that  ardor, 
with  which  you  embraced  the  truth,  has  led  your  all- 
devouring  fancy  to  an  abyss,  from  which  you  shrink 
with  horror. 

I  must  follow  the  track  of  your  inquiries,  in  order 
to  discover  the  source  of  your  complaints.  Once  you 
wrote  down  the  result  of  your  reflections.  Send  me 
that  paper  and  then  I  will  answer  you. 


JULIUS  TO  RAPHAEL. 


This  morning  I  have  been  rummaging  my  papers,  and 
have  recovered  a  lost  essay,  composed  in  those  happy 
hours  of  my  proud  enthusiasm.  Raphael,  how  that 
whole  period  has  changed  :  like  the  wooden  scaffolding 
of  the  stage  when  the  lights  are  gone.  My  heart  sought 
for  itself  a  philosophy,  and  fancy  interposed  her  dreams. 
That  which  was  warmest  was  for  me  the  truest. 

I  search  for  the  laws  of  spirit  —  I  strive  to  reach  the 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


353 


infinite,  but  I  forget  to  demonstrate  that  they  really 
exist :  and  so  a  bold  attack  of  Materialism  overthrows 
my  creation. 

Peruse  this  fragment,  dear  Raphael.  May  you  suc- 
ceed in  rekindling  the  expiring  sparks  of  my  enthu- 
siasm, in  reconciling  me  with  my  genius  —  but  as  for 
my  pride,  it  has  sunk  so  deeply  that  even  Raphael's  ap- 
probation will  hardly  raise  it  again. 


23 


354 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


THEOSOPHY  OF  JULIUS. 


WORLD  AND  MIND. 

The  universe  is  a  thought  of  the  Deity.  Since  this 
ideal  spirit-form  has  stepped  forth  into  reality  and  the 
new-born  world  has  embodied  the  draught  of  its  maker 
—  pardon  me  this  human  representation  —  it  is  the 
business  of  every  thinking  being  to  discover  the  first 
outline  in  this  existing  whole,  the  principle  of  the 
machine,  the  unity  in  the  composition ;  to  search  for 
the  law  in  the  phenomenon  and  to  analyze  the  struc- 
ture to  its  ground-plan.  Thus  I  find  only  a  single 
mode  (Erscheinung)  in  nature,  namely,  Mind,  the 
thinking  essence.  The  great  embodiment  which  we 
call  World,  now  remains  to  me  remarkable,  only  be- 
cause it  is  at  hand  to  denote  by  symbols  the  manifold 
expressions  of  that  essence.  All  within  and  without 
me  is  only  a  hieroglyph  of  a  power  which  resembles 
me.  The  laws  of  Nature  are  the  ciphers,  which  Mind 
combines,  to  make  itself  intelligible  to  Mind  —  the  al- 
phabet, by  whose  means  all  spirit  communicates  with 
the  Father  of  spirits  and  with  itself.  Harmony,  truth, 
order,  beauty,  excellence,  give  me  joy,  because  they 
place  me  in  the  active  condition  of  their  designer,  their 
possessor,  because  they  reveal  to  me  the  presence  of  a 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


355 


rational,  sensible  being,  and  leave  me  to  divine  my 
affinity  with  that  being.  A  new  experience  in  this 
kingdom  of  truth,  gravitation,  the  discovered  circulation 
of  the  blood,  the  nature-system  of  Linnaeus,  tell  me  di- 
rectly the  same  as  an  antique  recovered  from  Hercu- 
laneum  —  both  give  only  a  reflection  of  a  spirit,  a  new 
acquaintance  with  an  existence  like  my  own.  I  con- 
verse with  the  Infinite  through  the  instrument  of  Na- 
ture, through  universal  history  :  I  read  the  soul  of  the 
artist  in  his  Apollo. 

Reason  from  effect  to  cause,  Raphael,  if  you  would 
persuade  yourself.  Every  condition  of  the  human 
soul  has  somewhere  a  similitude  in  the  physical  crea- 
tion, whereby  it  is  indicated,  and  not  artists  and  poets 
alone,  but  even  the  most  abstract  reasoners,  have  sup- 
plied themselves  from  this  rich  magazine.  Lively  ac- 
tivity we  call  fire,  time  is  a  stream  which  hurriedly  rolls 
away,  eternity  is  a  circle  :  a  secret  conceals  itself  in 
the  midnight,  and  truth  dwells  in  the  sun.  I  even  be- 
gin to  believe,  that  the  future  destiny  of  the  human 
soul  lies  prophesied  in  the  dark  oracle  of  the  material 
creation.  Each  coming  spring,  which  attracts  the  bud- 
ding plant  from  the  earth's  bosom,  gives  me  insight  into 
the  sad  enigma  of  death,  and  confutes  my  anxious  fears 
of  an  eternal  sleep.  The  swallow,  which  we  find  tor- 
pid in  winter,  and  see  revived  in  spring,  the  dead  ca- 
terpillar which  lifts  itself,  renewed  as  a  butterfly,  in  the 
air,  afford  us  striking  symbols  of  our  immortality. 

How  notable  does  all  become  to  me  !  Now,  Ra- 
phael, everything  around  me  is  teeming  with  life.  I 


356  PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 

find  no  desert  in  the  whole  of  Nature.  Wherever  I 
discover  a  body,  there  I  suppose  a  spirit  —  where  I 
perceive  motion,  there  I  divine  a  thouo-ht. 

o 

Where  no  dead  lie  buried,  where  no  resurrection  is, 

still  the  Almighty  speaks  to  me  through  His  works,  and 
so  I  understand  the  doctrine  of  an  omnipresent  God. 


IDEA. 


All  spirits  are  attracted  by  perfection.  All  —  with 
some  departures,  but  no  single  exception  —  all  strive 
after  the  condition  in  which  they  have  the  highest  free 
utterance  of  their  powers,  all  possess  the  common  im- 
pulse to  extend  the  sphere  of  their  activity,  to  absorb 
all  things,  to  collect  and  appropriate  what  they  recog- 
nize as  good,  as  excellent,  as  attractive.  Intuition  of 
the  beautiful,  the  true,  the  excellent,  is  a  momentary 
possession  of  those  qualities.  We  ourselves  step  into 
whatever  condition  we  perceive.  We  are  possessors  of 
a  virtue,  authors  of  an  action,  discoverers  of  a  truth, 
holders  of  a  happiness,  at  the  moment  when  we  enter- 
tain a  conception  of  them.  We  ourselves  become  the 
object  of  our  perceptions.  Do  not  here  confuse  me, 
Raphael,  with  a  dubious  sneer;  this  supposition  is  the 
foundation  upon  which  I  ground  all  the  subsequent 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


357 


argument,  and  we  must  agree,  before  I  can  have  the 
courage  to  complete  my  edifice. 

The  internal  feeling  of  every  one  responds  to  this. 
If,  for  example,  we  admire  a  deed  of  magnanimity,  valor, 
wisdom,  does  not  a  secret  consciousness  in  our  hearts 
whisper,  that  we  are  able  to  do  the  like?  Does  not 
the  deep  blush  which  mantles  our  cheeks  while  listen- 
ing to  a  history  of  such,  betray  that  our  modesty  trem- 
bles at  the  consequent  admiration  —  that  we  are  em- 
barrassed at  the  praise  which  the  ennobling  of  our  na- 
tures must  acquire  for  us  ?  Yes,  at  such  a  moment 
even  our  bodies  harmonize  with  every  motion  of  the 
actor,  and  openly  express  that  our  souls  have  passed 
over  into  his  condition.  When  present,  Raphael, 
where  a  great  event  was  related  before  a  numerous  as- 
sembly, did  you  never  perceive  how  the  narrator  him- 
self expected  the  incense  and  absorbed  the  applause 
which  was  offered  up  to  his  hero ;  and  if  you  were  ever 
the  narrator,  did  you  not  surprise  your  heart  in  this 
pleasant  illusion?  You  have  had  examples,  Raphael, 
of  the  eagerness  with  which  I  can  quarrel  with  my 
bosom  friend  for  the  reading  of  a  beautiful  narrative 
or  an  excellent  poem,  and  my  heart  would  secretly 
confess,  that  it  only  envied  you  the  laurel  which  passes 
from  the  actor  to  the  narrator.  A  quick  and  deep  art- 
istic feeling  for  virtue  passes  universally  as  a  great  dis- 
position for  virtue,  as  on  the  contrary  one  does  not 
hesitate  to  suspect  the  heart  of  a  man,  whose  head 
comprehends  moral  beauty  slowly  and  with  difficulty. 

Do  not  object  tome,  that  frequently,  through  a  lively 


353 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


recognition  of  a  perfection  the  opposite  imperfection 
discovers  itself,  that  a  deep  enthusiasm  for  excellence 
often  seizes  even  the  wicked,  that  a  desire  for  lofty 
herculean  greatness  sometimes  animates  the  weak.  I 
know,  for  example,  that  our  admired  Haller,  who  so 
manfully  unmasked  the  cherished  inanity  of  idle  rank, 
to  whose  philosophical  greatness  I  have  paid  the  tribute 
of  so  much  veneration,  —  that  even  he  was  unable  to 
refuse  the  still  emptier  inanity  of  a  knight's-star,  which 
was  an  affront  to  his  greatness.  I  am  convinced  that 
in  the  happy  moment  of  the  ideal,  the  artist,  the  phi- 
losopher, and  the  poet  are  actually  the  great  and  good 
men  whose  image  they  portray ;  but  with  many  this 
ennobling  of  the  spirit  is  only  an  unnatural  condition, 
violently  induced  by  a  quicker  agitation  of  the  blood, 
a  bolder  flight  of  fancy  ;  but  which  for  that  very  reason 
vanishes  in  haste,  like  every  other  enchantment,  and  de- 
livers the  exhausted  heart  to  the  despotic  whim  of  ab- 
ject passions.  The  exhausted  heart,  I  say  —  for  an 
universal  experience  teaches,  that  the  relapsing  sinner 
is  always  the  more  desperate,  that  the  renegades  of  vir- 
tue only  take  a  sweeter  compensation  in  the  arms  of 
vice  for  the  onerous  constraint  of  repentance. 

I  wished  to  prove,  Raphael,  that  an  external  condi- 
tion is  our  own,  if  we  perceive  it ;  that  perfection  be- 
comes our  own  at  the  instant  when  we  create  for  our- 
selves a  representation  of  it,  that  our  satisfaction  at 
truth,  beauty  and  virtue  finally  resolves  itself  into  the 
consciousness  of  a  personal  nobility,  a  personal  enrich- 
ment ;  and  I  think  I  have  proved  it. 


P  HILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


359 


We  have  conceptions  of  the  wisdom,  goodness  and 
justice  of  the  Most  High,  but  none  of  his  omnipotence. 
To  denote  his  omnipotence  we  assist  ourselves  with 
the  serial  representation  of  three  successions  ;  Nothing, 
His  Will,  Something.  It  is  darkness  and  chaos  — 
God  says  let  there  be  light,  and  there  is  light.  If  we 
had  a  real  idea  of  his  active  omnipotence,  we  should  be 
creators,  as  He  is. 

Then  every  perfection  which  I  perceive,  becomes 
my  own  —  it  gives  me  joy  because  it  is  my  own,  I 
desire  it  because  I  love  myself.  Perfection  in  nature 
is  no  property  of  matter,  but  of  spirit.  All  spirits  are 
happy  in  their  perfection.  I  desire  the  happiness  of  all 
spirits,  because  I  love  myself.  The  felicity  which  I 
imagine,  becomes  my  felicity;  therefore  it  behoves  me 
to  awaken  these  representations,  to  repeat,  to  elevate 
them  —  it  behoves  me  to  diffuse  felicity  around  me. 
Whatever  beauty,  whatever  excellence,  whatever  en- 
joyment I  produce  externally,  I  produce  internally; 
whatever  I  neglect  or  destroy,  I  neglect  to  my  own 
loss :  I  desire  felicity  for  others,  because  I  desire  it  for 
myself.  Desire  for  the  felicity  of  others  we  call  benevo- 
lence. 


360 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


LOVE. 

Now,  dear  Raphael,  let  me  look  around.  The 
height  is  gained,  the  mist  has  fallen,  I  stand  as  in  a 
blooming  landscape,  girt  by  immensity.  A  purer  sun- 
shine has  illuminated  all  my  conceptions. 

Then  Love  —  the  fairest  phenomenon  in  the  animated 
creation,  the  omnipotent  magnet  in  the  world  of  spirit, 
the  source  of  devotion  and  the  noblest  virtue  —  Love  is 
only  the  reflection  of  this  single  power,  an  attraction  of 
the  excellent,  founded  on  an  instantaneous  exchange  of 
personality,  a  reciprocity  of  being. 

If  I  hate,  I  deprive  myself  of  something  ;  if  I  love,  I 
am  the  richer  by  what  I  love.  Pardon  is  the  recovery 
of  an  alienated  possession  —  human  hatred  a  prolonged 
suicide  —  selfishness  the  greatest  poverty  of  a  created 
being. 

When  Raphael  stole  from  my  last  embrace,  my  soul 
was  rent,  and  I  wept  at  the  loss  of  my  fairer  half.  On 
that  holy  evening  —  you  well  remember  —  when  our 
souls  for  the  first  time  passionately  came  in  contact,  all 
your  great  feelings  were  mine,  I  laid  claim  to  your  ex- 
cellence through  my  eternal  right  of  possession  alone ; 
prouder  to  love  you,  than  to  be  loved  by  you,  for  the 
first  has  made  me  a  Raphael. 

Such  the  powerful  impulse  of  affection, 
That  in  gentle  stress  of  sweet  connection, 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


Bound  our  hearts  forever  into  one  ! 
Raphael,  hand  in  hand  with  thee  ascending, 
I  essay  the  path  that  upward  tending, 

Melts  within  the  spirit-sun. 

Happy,  ah  thrice  happy  !  Have  I  found  thee, 
Out  of  millions  twined  myself  around  thee. 

And  of  millions  thou  alone  art  mine. 
Let  then  Chaos  with  returning  ocean, 
Dash  all  atoms  in  a  wild  commotion  — 

Ever  will  my  heart  repose  on  thine. 

In  thine  eyes  a  kindred  glance  bestowing, 
See  I  not  my  own  Elysium  glowing  ? 

Only  do  I  love  myself  in  thee. 
Nature  decks  herself  in  brighter  splendor, 
And  the  heaven  lying  clear  and  tender, 

Mirrored  in  my  friend  I  see. 

Gently  dries  her  tears  reviving  sorrow, 
Seeking  on  the  breast  of  love  to  borrow 

Respite  sweet  from  passion's  wave. 
And  the  bliss  that  tortures  yet  entrances, 
Raphael,  seeks  within  thy  spirit-glances 

Longingly  a  rapturous  grave. 

If  alone  within  creation  living, 

Souls  to  crags  my  fancy  would  be  giving, 

I  would  kiss  them  and  embrace. 
Should  I  vex  the  ether  with  my  sighing, 
All  the  clefts  would  cheer  me  with  replying  — 

Sympathy  is  wide  as  space. 


Love  finds  no  place  in  the  unison  of  souls,  but  only 
in  their  harmony.  I  recognize  with  pleasure  my  feel- 
ings again  in  the  mirror  of  your  own,  but  I  devour 


362 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


with  fiery  longing  the  nobler  ones,  in  which  I  am  de- 
ficient. One  principle  governs  love  and  friendship. 
The  tender  Desdemona  loves  her  Othello  for  the  dan- 
gers which  he  has  encountered  ;  the  manly  Othello 
loves  her  for  the  tears  which  she  shed  for  him. 

There  are  moments  in  life,  when  we  are  disposed  to 
press  to  our  bosom  every  flower  and  every  distant  star, 
every  lofty  spirit  of  our  divining  —  an  embracing  of  all 
nature,  as  of  our  beloved.  You  understand  me,  Ra- 
phael. The  Divinity  is  already  very  near  to  that  man, 
who  has  succeeded  in  collecting  all  beauty  and  great- 
ness, all  excellence,  both  in  the  small  and  great  of  na- 
ture, and  in  evolving  from  this  manifoldness  the  great 
unity.  The  whole  creation  sinks  into  his  personality. 
If  each  man  loved  all  men,  then  every  individual  would 
possess  the  world. 

The  philosophy  of  our  times  —  I  fear — contradicts 
this  doctrine.  Many  of  our  thinkers  have  lent  them- 
selves to  sneer  out  of  the  human  soul  this  heavenly  im- 
pulse, to  obliterate  the  seal  of  Divinity,  and  to  dissipate 
this  energy,  this  noble  enthusiasm,  in  the  cold,  deathly 
breath  of  a  sordid  indifference.  In  the  slavish  feeling 
of  their  own  abasement,  they  have  contracted  with 
Self-love,  that  dangerous  enemy  of  benevolence,  to  ex- 
plain a  phenomenon  which  was  too  godlike  for  their 
narrow  hearts.  They  have  woven  their  comfortless 
doctrine  out  of  a  paltry  egoism,  and  have  made  their 
own  limitations  the  unit-measure  of  the  Creator :  de- 
generate slaves,  who  cry  down  freedom  amid  the  clank 
of  their  fetters.    Swift,  who  has  converted  the  fault  of 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


363 


folly  into  the  infamy  of  humanity,  and  first  wrote  his 
own  name  on  the  pillory  which  he  built  for  the  whole 
race  —  Swift  himself  could  not  inflict  upon  human  na- 
ture a  wound  so  deadly  as  these  perilous  thinkers,  who 
adorn  Self-love  with  all  the  display  of  subtilty  and  gen- 
ius, and  ennoble  it  to  a  system. 

Why  should  it  undervalue  the  whole  race,  because  a 
few  members  happen  to  despair  of  its  worth  ? 

I  confess  freely,  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  a  disinter- 
ested Love.  I  am  lost,  if  there  is  none  —  I  give  up  di- 
vinity, immortality  and  virtue.  I  have  no  evidence  re- 
maining for  these  hopes,  if  I  cease  to  have  faith  in 
Love.  A  spirit  who  loves  himself  alone,  is  an  atom 
floating  in  the  immeasurable  void. 


SACRIFICE. 


But  love  has  produced  effects  which  seem  to  con- 
tradict its  own  nature. 

I  can  imagine,  that  I  increase  my  own  happiness  by 
a  sacrifice  which  I  bring  to  the  happiness  of  another  — 
but  what  if  this  sacrifice  be  my  life?  And  history  has 
examples  of  such  a  sacrifice,  and  I  feel  deeply  that  it 
ought  to  cost  me  nothing  to  die  for  Raphael's  safety. 
How  is  it  possible,  that  we  consider  death  a  means  to 


364 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


increase  the  sum  of  our  enjoyments.  How  can  the 
cessation  of  my  existence  consist  with  the  improvement 
of  my  being? 

The  supposition  of  an  immortality  destroys  this  con- 
tradiction —  but  it  also  defaces  forever  the  lofty  grace 
of  this  phenomenon.  Love  forbids  regard  to  a  reward- 
ing future.  There  must  be  virtue  which  suffices  even 
without  the  thought  of  immortality,  which  effects  the 
same  sacrifice,  even  at  the  peril  of  annihilation. 

True,  it  ennobles  the  human  soul  to  sacrifice  present 
to  eternal  advantage  —  it  is  the  highest  point  of  egoism 
—  but  egoism  and  love  divide  mankind  into  two  very 
dissimilar  classes,  whose  limits  never  interfere.  Ego- 
ism erects  its  centre  in  itself ;  Love  plants  it  beyond  it- 
self, in  the  axis  of  the  eternal  All.  Love  intends  unity  : 
egoism  is  solitude.  Love  is  the  co-ruling  citizen  of  a 
flourishing  republic  ;  egoism,  a  despot  in  a  desolate  crea- 
tion. Egoism  sows  for  gratitude,  love  is  willing  to 
reap  ingratitude.  Love  bestows,  egoism  lends  —  the 
same  in  the  sight  of  the  judging  truth,  whether  it  lends 
on  the  enjoyment  of  the  next  moment,  or  on  the  pros- 
pect of  a  martyr-crown  —  the  same,  whether  the  inter- 
est falls  in  this  life  or  in  the  other. 

Imagine,  Raphael,  a  truth,  which  will  benefit  the 
whole  human  race  to  distant  centuries  —  suppose  too, 
this  truth  condemns  its  confessor  to  death,  and  can 
only  be  proved,  only  be  believed,  if  he  dies.  Imagine 
then  a  man  with  the  clear,  embracing  sunlight  of  gen- 
ius, with  the  fire-wheel  of  inspiration,  with  the  whole 
sublime  capacity  for  Love.    Let  the  perfect  ideal  of  that 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


great  effect  rise  in  his  soul  —  in  the  hour  of  dark  mis- 
giving let  all  the  happy  ones  whom  he  will  make,  pass 
before  him  —  let  the  present  and  the  future  crowd  at 
once  into  his  spirit,  —  and  now  answer  me,  does  this 
man  need  the  reference  to  another  life  ? 

The  sum  of  all  these  feelings  will  weave  themselves 
into  his  personality,  will  flow  into  one  with  his  Me. 
He  himself  is  the  mankind  which  he  now  imagines. 
It  is  a  body,  in  which  his  life  hangs  like  a  drop  of 
blood,  forgotten  and  superfluous,  —  how  quickly  will 
he  shed  it  for  its  safety  ! 


GOD. 

Every  perfection  in  the  universe  is  united  in  God. 
God  and  Nature  are  two  Magnitudes,  equal  to  each 
other. 

The  whole  sum  of  harmonious  activity,  which  exists 
together  in  the  divine  Substance,  is  isolated  in  Nature, 
the  fac-simile  of  that  Substance,  into  innumerable 
grades  and  measures.  Nature  (allow  me  this  figurative 
expression)  is  an  infinitely  divided  God. 

The  divine  Me  has  dispersed  itself  into  numberless 
sensible  substances,  as  a  white  beam  of  light  is  decom- 
posed by  the  prism  into  seven  colored  rays.  And  a  di- 
vine being  would  be  evolved  from  the  union  of  all  these 


3G6 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


substances,  as  the  seven  colored  rays  dissolve  again  into 
the  clear  light-beam.  The  existing  form  of  Nature  is 
the  optic  glass,  and  all  the  activities  of  spirits  are  only 
an  infinite  color-play  of  that  simple  divine  ray.  Should 
it  ever  please  the  Almighty  to  shatter  this  prism,  then 
the  barrier  betwixt  himself  and  the  world  would  fall  to 
ruin,  all  spirits  would  disappear  into  one  Infinite  spirit, 
all  accords  would  melt  into  one  harmony,  all  streams 
would  rest  in  one  ocean. 

The  attraction  of  the  elements  gave  to  Nature  its 
material  form.  The  attraction  of  spirits  multiplied  and 
continued  to  infinity  must  finally  lead  to  the  abolition 
of  that  separation,  or  (may  I  utter  it,  Raphael?)  create 
God.    Such  an  attraction  is  Love. 

Then  Love,  dear  Raphael,  is  the  ladder  on  which  we 
climb  to  a  likeness  unto  God.  Without  assumption 
and  unconsciously,  we  tend  thitherward. 

Lifeless  clay -groups  are  we,  if  despising  — 
We  are  gods,  if  each  the  other  prizing, 

For  the  sweet  constraint  of  love  we  pine. 
Through  the  ranks  of  spirits  uncreating, 
Upward  rules  this  impulse  unahating, 

Even  to  the  throne  divine. 


Hand  in  hand,  with  never  checked  career, 
From  the  pagan  to  the  Grecian  seer 

Standing  next  the  lowest  seraph's  place, 
Wander  we  in  circling  dance  fraternal, 
Till  within  the  sea  of  light  eternal 

Sinking,  vanish  time  and  space. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


367 


Friendless  yearned  the  universal  Maker, 
Framing  spirit  for  His  joy's  partaker, 

Holy  mirror  of  His  holiness  ; 
Yet  no  equal  with  the  Highest  dwelleth, 
But  eternity  around  Him  swelleth 

From  the  cup  of  Life's  excess. 

Love,  Raphael,  is  the  potent  arcanum,  again  to  re- 
store the  degraded  king  of  gold  from  the  unsightly 
chalk,  to  rescue  the  eternal  from  the  perishable,  and 
the  great  oracle  of  Duration  from  the  destroying  brand 
of  Time. 

"What  is  the  sum  of  all  the  preceding? 

Let  us  perceive  excellence,  and  it  becomes  our  own. 
Let  us  become  intimate  with  the  lofty,  ideal  Unity,  and 
we  shall  cling  together  with  fraternal  love.  Let  us  plant 
beauty  and  joy,  and  we  reap  the  same.  Let  us  think 
clearly,  and  we  shall  love  passionately.  Be  ye  perfect, 
even  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect,  said  the 
Founder  of  our  faith.  Weak  humanity  recoiled  at  this 
injunction,  therefore  he  expresses  himself  more  intelli- 
gibly :  love  one  another. 

Wisdom,  with  the  sunny  look, 
Mighty  goddess,  cannot  hrook 
Love's  triumphant  presence  ! 

Up  the  steep  and  starry  road, 
To  the  Infinite's  abode, 

Who  before  thee  going 
Boldly  rends  the  veil  away, 
Through  the  grave  lets  in  the  day, 

Heaven  to  thee  showing  ? 


368 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


Thither  lured  she  not  at  will, 
Could  we  be  immortal  still  ? 

Can  the  angels  Godward  press, 

Saving  through  her  holiness? 
Love  alone  conducts  the  soul 
To  the  Father  of  the  Whole  — 

All  her  might  confess. 

Here,  Raphael,  you  have  the  creed  of  my  reason,  a 
hasty  outline  of  my  attempted  creation.  In  such  wise 
have  the  seeds  sprung  up,  which  yourself  scattered  in 
my  soul.  Rejoice  or  laugh  or  blush  at  your  pupil,  as 
you  please ;  but  this  philosophy  has  ennobled  my  heart, 
and  adorned  the*  perspective  of  my  life.  It  is  possible, 
dear  friend,  that  the  whole  frame-work  of  my  conclu- 
sions has  been  an  unsubstantial  vision.  The  world,  as 
I  have  here  portrayed  it,  is  perhaps  nowhere  actual  but 
in  the  brain  of  your  Julius  :  perhaps  after  the  lapse  of 
the  million  years  of  that  Judge,  on  whose  seat  the 
promised  wiser  man  sits,  I  may  be  ashamed  of  my  raw 
design  at  sight  of  the  true  original.  All  this  may  hap- 
pen, I  expect  it ;  but  then  if  reality  bears  no  resem- 
blance to  my  dreams,  it  will  be  a  more  majestic,  a 
more  delightful  surprise.  Should  my  ideas  indeed  be 
fairer  than  the  ideas  of  the  eternal  Creator?  What  — 
would  He  suffer  his  sublime  work  of  art  to  fall  below 
the  anticipations  of  a  mortal  connoisseur  ?  It  is  the 
very  ordeal  of  his  great  achievement,  and  the  sweetest 
triumph  for  the  greatest  of  spirits,  that  false  conclu- 
sions and  illusory  perceptions  of  himself  do  no  harm, 
that  every  serpent-fold  of  the  licentious  reason  at  last 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


369 


strikes  into  the  strait  path  of  eternal  truth,  that  finally 
the  same  mouth  receives  all  its  lingering  tributaries. 
Raphael,  what  ideas  does  that  artist  awake  in  me,  who, 
however  deformed  in  a  thousand  copies,  still  preserves 
his  identity  in  all  the  thousand,  and  whom  even  the 
desecrating  hand  of  a  bungler  cannot  deprive  of  that 
homage  which  is  his  due. 

Besides,  if  my  statement  were  entirely  false,  and 
what  is  more,  utterly  spurious,  I  am  convinced  that  it 
must  be  so  necessarily ;  and  yet  it  is  possible  that  all 
results  may  coincide  therewith.  Our  whole  knowledge, 
as  all  philosophers  agree,  consists  in  a  conventional 
illusion,  with  which  nevertheless  the  strictest  truth  may 
subsist.  Our  purest  conceptions  are  by  no  means 
images  of  things,  but  only  their  necessarily  determined 
and  coexisting  signs.  Neither  God,  nor  the  human 
soul,  nor  the  world  are  actually  that  which  we  consider 
them.  Our  ideas  of  those  things  are  only  the  endemic 
forms,  through  which  the  planet  which  we  inhabit 
transmits  them  to  us.  Our  brain  belongs  to  this  planet, 
consequently  also  the  idioms  of  our  conceptions  which 
lie  stored  there.  But  the  power  of  the  soul  is  peculiar, 
necessary,  and  ever  like  itself ;  the  caprice  of  the  ma- 
terial through  which  it  expresses  itself,  does  not  alter 
the  eternal  laws  by  which  that  expression  is  made,  so 
long  as  this  caprice  does  not  contradict  itself,  so  long 
as  the  symbol  corresponds  to  the  thing  symbolized. 
Just  as  reflection  unfolds  the  relations  of  the  dioms, 
these  relations  must  actually  exist  in  the  things  them- 
selves. Then  truth  is  no  property  of  the  idioms,  but  of 
24 


370 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


the  results  —  not  the  similarity  of  the  symbol  with  the 
thing  symbolized,  of  the  conception  with  the  object, 
but  the  agreement  of  this  conception  with  the  laws  of 
reflection.  In  the  same  way  mathematics  makes  use 
of  figures  which  exist  nowhere  but  upon  paper,  and 
finds  by  means  of  them  what  exists  in  the  actual  world. 
What  similarity,  for  example,  have  the  letters  A  and  B, 
the  signs  :  and  =  t  -j-  and  — ,  with  the  fact  that  con- 
stitutes our  result  ?  And  yet  the  comet,  predicted  for 
centuries,  advances  from  the  farthest  heaven  —  the  ex- 
pected planet  crosses  the  disk  of  the  sun  !  Columbus 
the  world-discoverer,  ventures,  on  the  infallibility  of  his 
calculation,  the  hazardous  strife  with  an  unexplored 
ocean,  to  seek  the  second  half  yet  wanting  to  the  known 
hemisphere,  the  great  island  Atlantis,  wherewith  to  fill 
the  chasm  on  his  chart.  He  found  it,  this  island  of  his 
paper,  and  his  reckoning  was  just.  Would  it  have 
been  less  so,  if  a  hostile  storm  had  shattered  his  ships, 
or  driven  them  back  to  their  port  t  The  human  reason 
makes  a  similar  calculation,  if  it  surveys  the  supersen- 
suous  with  the  aid  of  the  sensuous,  and  applies  the 
mathematics  of  its  results  to  the  physics  of  the  hidden 
world.  But  the  reckoning  still  wants  its  last  proof, 
for  no  traveller  has  returned  from  that  land,  to  recount 
its  discovery. 

Human  nature,  and  each  individual,  has  its  own 
limitations.  For  the  former  we  will  console  ourselves 
reciprocally  :  the  latter  will  excuse  to  Raphael  the  in- 
experience of  his  Julius.  I  am  poor  in  conceptions,  a 
stranger  to  many  sciences  which  are  deemed  indispen- 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


371 


sable  to  researches  of  this  kind.  I  have  belonged  to 
no  philosophical  school,  and  have  read  few  books.  It 
may  be,  that  here  and  there  I  substitute  my  fancies  for 
the  stricter  deductions  of  reason,  that  I  sell  the  free 
play  of  my  blood,  the  doubts  and  needs  of  my  heart,  for 
sober  wisdom  ;  even  that,  my  friend,  should  not  cause 
me  to  rue  the  lost  moments.  It  is  actual  gain  for  the 
universal  perfection,  it  was  the  foresight  of  the  All-wise 
spirit,  that  the  wandering  reason  should  people  the 
chaotic  land  of  dreams,  and  fertilize  the  barren  soil  of 
contradiction.  We  esteem  not  only  the  mechanical 
artist,  who  polishes  the  rough  diamond  into  the  gem, 
but  also  the  other,  who  ennobles  the  common  stone 
into  the  specious  dignity  of  the  diamond.  Assiduous 
Form  can  sometimes  cause  the  massive  truth  of  Matter 
to  be  forgotten.  Every  exercise  of  reflection,  every  re- 
fined subtilty  of  the  spirit,  is  a  slight  step  towards  its 
perfection  —  and  every  perfection  must  attain  existence 
in  the  complete  world.  Reality  does  not  restrict  itself 
to  the  absolutely  necessary,  it  comprehends  also  the  re- 
latively necessary;  every  production  of  the  brain,  every 
tissue  of  wit,  has  an  inviolable  right  of  citizenship  in 
this  higher  sense  of  creation.  In  the  infinite  design  of 
nature,  no  activity  need  be  omitted,  no  degree  of  plea- 
sure be  wanting  to  the  universal  happiness.  The 
world's  great  steward,  who  does  not  let  a  mote  fall  use- 
less, or  a  corner  remain  unpeopled,  where  there  is  still 
room  for  animate  enjoyment,  who  nourishes  asps  and 
spiders  with  the  poisons  that  are  deadly  to  man,  who 
calls  out  a  growth  from  the  province  of  corruption,  who 


372 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


dispenses  frugally  the  little  buds  of  rapture  which  might 
generate  delirium,  who  finally  elaborates  vice  and  folly 
into  excellence,  and  knew  how  to  weave  the  great  idea 
of  imperial  Rome  from  the  lust  of  Tarquinius  Sextus, 
—  this  inventive  spirit  should  not  reject  even  error  for 
his  great  designs,  and  let  this  ample  world-tract  in  the 
human  soul  lie  savage  and  joyless.  Every  aptness  of 
the  reason,  even  in  error,  increases  its  aptness  for  the 
reception  of  truth. 

Dear  friend  of  my  soul,  let  me  constantly  add  my 
mite  to  the  vast  web  of  human  wisdom.  The  sun-im- 
age is  painted  differently  in  the  dew-drop  of  the  morn- 
ing and  in  the  majestic  mirror  of  the  earth-girdling 
ocean !  But  shame  upon  the  dull  and  misty  morass 
which  never  receives  and  never  gives  it  back  !  A 
million  plants  drink  from  the  four  elements  of  nature. 
A  store-house  stands  open  for  all ;  but  they  mingle  and 
produce  their  sap  in  a  million  different  ways.  Such 
fair  manifoldness  proclaims  a  rich  lord  of  the  house. 
There  are  four  elements  from  which  all  spirits  create  ; 
their  Me,  Nature,  God  and  the  Future.  All  unite  and 
produce  in  a  million  different  ways,  but  there  is  one 
truth  which,  like  a  prime  axle,  passes  through  all  re- 
ligions and  all  systems  —  "  approach  the  God  of  your 
own  conceptions." 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


373 


RAPHAEL  TO  JULIUS. 

It  would  be  bad,  truly,  if  there  were  no  other  way 
of  giving  you  peace,  Julius,  than  by  again  restoring  to 
you  a  belief  in  the  firstling  of  your  reflections.  I  have 
found  again  in  your  papers,  with  inward  satisfaction, 
those  ideas  whose  germination  I  witnessed,  They  are 
worthy  of  a  soul  like  yours,  but  you  cannot  and  need 
not  remain  stationary  here.  There  are  joys  for  every 
age,  and  pleasures  for  each  stage  of  the  spirit. 

It  must  indeed  be  hard  for  you  to  tear  yourself  from 
a  system  which  was  so  entirely  adapted  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  your  heart.  No  other,  I  venture  to  say,  will 
again  take  root  so  deeply  within  you,  and  perhaps  you 
only  need  to  be  left  entirely  to  yourself,  to  become 
sooner  or  later  reconciled  again  with  your  favorite 
ideas.  You  would  soon  discover  the  weak  points  of 
opposing  systems,  and  then,  with  equal  indemonstrable- 
ness,  seize  the  most  desirable,  or  perhaps  find  new 
reasons  for  saving,  at  least  the  essential,  even  at  the 
expense  of  some  bold  assertions. 

But  all  this  is  not  in  my  plan.  You  should  attain  to  a 
higher  f  reedom  of  spirit,  where  you  would  no  longer 
need  such  helps.  Truly  this  is  not  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment. The  usual  aim  of  the  earliest  culture  is  subju- 
gation of  the  spirit,  and  of  all  the  tricks  of  education, 
this  at  first  almost  always  succeeds.    Even  you,  with  all 


374 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


the  elasticity  of  your  character,  appeared  destined, 
more  than  a  thousand  others,  to  a  willing  submission  to 
the  sway  of  opinions,  and  this  condition  of  minority 
would  have  the  longer  lasted  with  you,  the  less  you  felt 
its  oppression.  Your  head  and  heart  are  in  the  closest 
union.  The  doctrine  becomes  estimable  to  you  through 
the  teacher.  You  soon  succeed  in  discovering  its  in- 
teresting side,  in  exalting  it  according  to  the  wants  of 
your  heart,  and  in  consoling  yourself  by  resignation  for 
those  points  which  must  offend  you.  You  despise  at- 
tacks against  such  opinions,  as  the  malicious  revenge 
of  a  slavish  soul  under  the  rod  of  its  task-master.  You 
paraded  your  chains,  which  you  thought  you  bore  from 
free  choice. 

Thus  I  found  you,  and  I  saw  with  grief,  how  often  in 
the  enjoyment  of  your  happiest  moments,  and  in  the 
expression  of  your  noblest  powers,  you  was  oppressed 
by  an  anxious  reference  to  others.  The  consequence 
with  which  you  acted  according  to  your  convictions, 
and  your  strength  of  soul  which  lightened  every  sacri- 
fice, were  doubled  restrictions  upon  your  activity  and 
happiness.  I  determined  at  once  to  frustrate  those  ig- 
norant attempts  to  force  a  spirit  like  your  own  into  the 
mould  of  a  common  head.  All  depended  upon  making 
you  conscious  of  the  worth  of  self-reflection,  and  upon 
inspiring  you  with  confidence  in  your  own  powers. 
The  result  of  your  first  essay  was  favorable  to  my  de- 
sign. It  is  true,  your  imagination  was  more  exercised 
thereby,  than  your  intellect.  Its  conjectures  made 
quicker  reparation  for  the  loss  of  your  dearest  convic- 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


375 


tions,  than  you  could  expect  from  the  snail-pace  of  cold- 
blooded inquiry,  which  advances  step  by  step  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown.  But  this  inspiring  system 
gave  you  the  first  satisfaction  in  this  new  field  of  ac- 
tivity, and  I  was  very  careful  not  to  disturb  a  welcome 
enthusiasm,  which  the  development  of  your  finest 
traits  demanded.  Now  the  scene  has  changed  ;  a  re- 
turn to  the  guardianship  of  your  childhood  is  forever 
intercepted.  Your  way  leads  onward,  and  you  need 
no  more  indulgence. 

It  need  not  surprise  you,  that  a  system  like  your  own 
could  not  endure  the  test  of  a  severe  criticism.  All 
experiments  of  this  kind,  which  resemble  yours  in 
boldness  and  extent,  have  no  other  fate.  Nothing  too 
was  more  natural,  than  that  your  philosophical  career 
should  begin  with  you  individually,  as  with  mankind 
in  the  mass.  The  universe  was  always  the  first  object 
of  human  investigation  ;  and  hypotheses  concerning  its 
origin  and  the  connection  of  its  parts,  had  employed 
the  greatest  thinkers  for  centuries,  when  Socrates  called 
down  the  philosophy  of  his  age  from  heaven  to  earth. 
But  the  limits  of  human  wisdom  were  too  narrow  for 
the  proud  curiosity  of  his  followers.  New  systems 
arose  from  the  ruins  of  the  old.  The  ingenuity  of 
later  times  ransacked  the  boundless  field  of  the  possi- 
ble answers  to  that  ever-recurring  question  concerning 
the  mysterious  principle  of  nature,  which  no  human 
experience  could  disclose.  Some  indeed  succeeded  in 
giving  the  results  of  their  meditations  some  show  of 
precision,  fullness  and  evidence.    There  are  many 


3TC 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTER? 


juggling  arts,  by  which  the  vain  reason  seeks  to  con- 
ceal its  contusion  at  not  being  able,  in  the  extension  of 
its  knowledge,  to  surpass  the  bounds  of  human  nature. 
By  dissecting  a  conception  into  the  individual  elements, 
from  which  it  was  at  first  arbitrarily  compounded,  one 
easily  imagines  that  he  has  discovered  new  truths.  A 
latent  presumption  soon  serves  for  the  first  link  in  a 
chain  of  conclusions,  whose  defects  one  knows  how  to 
conceal  craftily  ;  and  the  surreptitious  inferences  are 
admired  as  lofty  wisdom.  One  soon  amasses  partial 
data,  in  order  to  found  a  hypothesis,  being  silent  about 
the  opposing  phenomena  :  or  one  changes  the  signifi- 
cation of  words  to  suit  the  wants  of  the  syllogism. 
And  these  are  not  mere  artifices  of  the  philosophical 
charlatan,  in  order  to  deceive  his  public  ;  but  even  the 
most  honest,  impartial  inquirer  often  uses  unconscious- 
ly the  same  means,  to  quiet  his  thirst  for  knowledge, 
as  soon  as  he  has  once  transgressed  the  sphere,  in 
which  alone  his  reason  can  enjoy  its  activity  with  cer- 
tainty of  success. 

These  intimations  must  not  a  little  surprise  you.  Ju- 
lius, after  what  you  have  once  heard  from  me.  And 
yet  they  are  not  the  products  of  a  skeptical  caprice.  I 
can  render  you  an  account  of  the  grounds  on  which 
they  rest,  but  I  should  have  to  premise  with  a  some- 
what dry  discussion  of  the  nature  of  human  cognition, 
which  I  rather  defer  to  a  time  when  it  might  better 
meet  your  wants.  You  are  not  yet  in  a  frame  of  mind  to 
be  interested  with  the  humbling  truths  concerning  the 
limits  of  human  wisdom.    Inquire  first  into  the  system 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


377 


which  conflicts  with  your  own  ;  examine  it  with  equal 
impartiality  and  rigor,  and  proceed  in  like  manner 
with  other  theories,  with  which  you  have  lately  become 
acquainted.  And  if  none  of  all  your  demands  are  per- 
fectly satisfied,  then  the  question  will  occur  to  you, 
whether  these  demands  were  actually  legitimate. 

"A  sorry  consolation,"  will  you  say:  "is  resigna- 
tion, then,  my  only  prospect  after  so  many  glowing 
hopes  ?  Was  it  worth  while  to  invite  me  to  the  full  ex- 
ercise of  my  reason,  only  to  restrain  it  exactly  where  it 
began  to  be  most  available  to  me  ?  Must  I  then  learn 
to  know  a  higher  enjoyment,  only  to  feel  the  more  pain- 
fully my  confinement  ? " 

And  yet  it  is  just  this  disheartening  feeling  under 
which  I  would  so  readily  oppress  you.  To  remove 
everything  which  hinders  your  full  enjoyment  of  your 
being,  to  quicken  in  you  the  germ  of  every  lofty  inspi- 
ration—  the  consciousness  of  your  soul's  nobility  — 
this  is  my  aim.  You  are  roused  from  the  slumber  in- 
to which  you  were  rocked  by  subservience  to  foreign 
opinions;  but  you  will  never  fulfil  the  measure  of 
greatness  for  which  you  are  destined,  if  you  spend  your 
strength  in  striving  after  an  unattainable  goal.  This 
state  of  things  might  last  till  now,  and  was  too  one 
natural  result  of  your  newly  acquired  freedom.  The 
ideas  which  hitherto  have  most  occupied  you,  must  ne- 
cessarily have  given  the  first  directions  to  your  spirit's 
activity ;  and  your  own  experience  would  have  taught 
you  sooner  or  later,  whether  this  was,  of  all  possible 
ones,  the  most  fruitful.  My  business  was  only  to  ac- 
celerate, if  possible,  this  period. 


378 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


It  is  a  common  prejudice,  to  estimate  the  greatness 
of  the  man  according  to  the  matter  on  which  he  is  em- 
ployed, not  according  to  the  manner  in  which  he  elabo- 
rates it.  But  a  higher  being  certainly  honors  the 
stamp  of  completion  even  in  the  smallest  sphere,  while 
on  the  contrary  he  looks  down  in  pity  upon  the  vain 
attempt  to  comprehend  with  insect-glance  the  universe. 
Among  all  the  ideas  that  are  contained  in  your  essay, 
I  can  least  allow  the  position,  that  it  is  the  highest  des- 
tiny of  man  to  divine  the  spirit  of  the  Creator  in  his 
works.  It  is  true,  I  know  no  nobler  form  for  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  most  perfect  being,  than  Art.  But  you 
seem  to  have  overlooked  an  important  difference.  The 
universe  is  no  mere  embodiment  of  an  ideal,  like  the 
completed  work  of  a  human  artist.  The  latter  rules 
despotically  over  the  dead  matter  which  he  uses  for  the 
representation  of  his  ideas.  But  in  the  work  of  divine 
art,  the  peculiar  value  of  each  of  its  element  is  preserv- 
ed, and  that  sustaining  glance  which  He  vouchsafes  to 
each  germ  of  energy,  even  in  the  smallest  creature, 
glorifies  the  Master  as  much  as  the  harmony  of  the 
boundless  whole.  Life  and  Freedom,  in  the  greatest 
possible  extent,  is  the  seal  of  divine  creation.  It  is 
never  more  sublime,  than  where  its  ideal  seems  most 
to  be  deficient.  But  in  our  present  limitations  we  can- 
not embrace  this  loftier  perfection.  We  survey  too 
small  a  part  of  the  universe,  and  our  ear  cannot  detect 
the  ultimate  chord  of  its  vast  crowd  of  dissonances. 
Each  step  which  we  mount  in  the  scale  of  being,  will 
make  us  more  susceptible  for  this  scientific  pleasure, 


PHILOSOPHICAL  LETTERS. 


379 


but  even  then  it  possesses  value  only  as  a  means,  only 
so  far  as  it  inspires  us  with  a  like  activity.  Idle  as- 
tonishment at  some  far  distant  greatness  can  never  pos- 
sess a  lofty  merit.  Neither  material  for  his  agency, 
nor  power,  can  be  wanting  to  the  nobler  man,  to  be- 
come himself  a  Creator  in  his  own  sphere.  And  this 
vocation  is  yours  also,  Julius.  Once  discern  this  fact, 
and  you  will  never  again  mourn  over  the  barriers, 
which  your  thirst  for  knowledge  cannot  surpass. 

And  this  is  the  period  which  I  await,  in  order  to  see 
you  completely  reconciled  with  me.  The  extent  of 
your  powers  must  first  be  fully  recognized  by  you,  be- 
fore you  can  estimate  the  value  of  their  freest  utterance. 
Till  then  be  still  angry  with  me,  only  distrust  not  your- 
self. 


THE  END. 


ERRATA. 


87, 

line  13 : 

For 

undeterminateness 

read 

indeterminateness 

115 

"  11: 

or 

(C 

nor. 

169 

"  12. 

(C 

reader 

(( 

ruder. 

180 

"    11 : 

immortal 

(( 

immoral. 

253 

«  12: 

(C 

sensuous 

(C 

sensuousness . 

302 

"    1  : 

(( 

rises 

(( 

raises. 

(( 

"  14: 

CI 

so  that 

that. 

/ 


